Returning Henry
by NancyMay
Summary: Another idea I had, where Phryne and Jack find out Henry's visit hides some dirty dealings. How will she get him home to face the music?
1. Chapter 1

Phryne had had enough, she stormed out of the parlour and out to where Dot was resolutely beating the rugs. It looked like a good way to work off some of her anger.

"Miss," Dot spun round, "I thought you were with your father."

Miss Fisher balled her hands into fists, her whole frame stiffened, she held out her hand for the beater.

Dot could see she needed more than a stiff drink, something more ... physical. The atmosphere between the Lady Detective and her father had gone from cool to positively arctic over the two weeks he had been around. She had confided in her faithful companion that she was not on the best of terms with her father, that he had been a less than gentle and nurturing parent, locking her in a cupboard to try and control her and doling out beatings when he came home the worse for drink. Dot could not envisage such cruelty to a child and was rather glad locking her in a cupboard hadn't worked. She handed the carpet beater to her mistress and stood back.

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Phryne was glowing with exertion, the rugs were dust free when Jack appeared at the kitchen door. He leant against the frame as she handed the beater back to Dot and turned on her heel. She stopped, mid step and grimaced.

Jack grinned, she was red of cheek, her normally sleek bob had been periodically pushed back with her fingers. He thought she looked adorable.

"Housework, Miss Fisher?" he teased.

"Temper, Inspector," she almost snapped, then sighed. "Sorry, father ..."

"Ah ..." he nodded, knowingly. "Would a murder help?"

"His?" she raised her eyebrows, hopefully.

"Er... no," he shook his head and looked down to hide his smirk. He understood. Henry Fisher had arrived in Melbourne, tried to charge his room at a hotel to Mrs Stanley, borrowed money off his daughter to keep a theatre troupe going and appeared every single time she had tried to have a quiet dinner with him. Truthfully, he was almost ready to strangle him, himself.

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He waited patiently in the kitchen while she went to wash and change, dead men were never in a hurry to go anywhere. He didn't really need her help, but while she was venting her fury on the rugs Mr Butler had called to say his mistress could do with reason to be away from the house.

She appeared, hair brushed, make-up re-applied, wearing white silk trousers, a red blouse with wide white edging, matching coat and cloche - perfectly Phryne. She carried a small red handbag that he knew would hold her gold pistol, handkerchief and small purse.

Neither spoke as he opened the door for her and escorted her to his car, where he opened the passenger door and allowed her to settle herself comfortably before shutting the door quietly and nodding - as if he were her chauffeur.

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"So, Jack," she breathed, "what have we got?"

"We have a dead body, Miss Fisher," he joined the traffic and set course for the hospital morgue, "a young man, apparently recovering well from an injury sustained while horse-riding. Found in his bed by the maid, who was bringing him his breakfast, stone cold."

"The breakfast?" she raised an eyebrow.

"The body, Miss Fisher," he kept his eyes on the road to avoid grinning at her.

"What was the injury?"

"He fell off, backwards, fractured skull, dislocated shoulders, unconscious for several hours ... not likely to be fatal, not even the skull fracture." He parked neatly in the hospital car park, "so his death is surprising."

"Any enemies?" she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, "anyone want him dead?"

"Not as far as I know," he allowed her to precede him through the door to the morgue, "I'll take you over to his house after this, if you like."

"You're being remarkably open about this case, Inspector, you don't usually ask for my help." She looked up at him and tipped her head.

"Yes, well ... Mr Butler phoned, and I'd rather not have to arrest you for patricide," he moved round to the opposite side of the table and picked up the clipboard with the doctor's findings on it. "Raymond Cross, thirty one years old ... ah, death was due to ... drowning?"

"I thought he was found in bed?" Phryne lifted the sheet covering the body. He was slightly built, some bruising on his shoulders from his fall, she assumed ... or were they? "Jack," she folded the sheet tidily across his chest, "these bruises ..."

He put the board down and went to look, "yes, from his fall."

"They look a bit fresh to me," she waved a gloved finger over the right one, "surely they should have started to go yellow or have even disappeared by now."

"Hm," he stood over the body and placed his hands lightly over the bruises, "hands, just here ..."

"That would be painful," she observed, "and look, here," she pointed to his nose, "finger bruises."

Jack picked up the board again and read down to the analysis of the liquid Mr Cross had in his lungs. "Tap water."

"So," she stood back, "hold him down, hold his nose and pour water, quickly into his open mouth ... he wouldn't be able to swallow fast enough."

"But where did it happen?" he covered the body again, "he was in bed, the linen and pillows were dry."

"How long has he been dead?" Phryne reached over for the report, "eight hours or so."

"Come on, Miss Fisher," he held the door open for her, "time for a little sleuthing."

She grinned, she could almost forget that her father was currently availing himself of her food and drink, laundry services and household in general.

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Raymond Cross lived in a small bungalow in Malvern. It was a neat red brick building, surrounded by a small garden mainly laid to lawn.

"Does he live alone?" Phryne asked, as they walked up the short path, "any family, staff?"

"Just a maid, does everything for him, cooking, cleaning ... " he knocked smartly on the red door, newly painted from what she could make out. It was opened by the maid, who had obviously been crying.

"Hello, again, Miss Harris," Jack removed his hat, "this is Miss Fisher, she is a private detective I've asked to help in this matter."

"Oh," Miss Harris sniffed, "right." She stood aside and looked down as Phryne gave her a gentle smile.

Phryne looked around. The hall in which they stood was pristine, a small table housed the phone, over which hung a small oil painting, Rembrandt-esque in its style and technique. She raised an eyebrow, while admitting to herself that not all old masters were in galleries and museums, and there were bound to be some out in the big wide world that weren't attributed one way or another. It could be a student's work. She decided to reserve judgement, but,

"What was the source of Mr Cross's income?" she asked, conversationally.

"He had independent means, miss," the young woman whispered.

"I see," Phryne mused, "I see ..." she waved her hand at the painting, "... he had an interest in art."

"Oh, yes, miss," the girl brightened, "he was always looking out for something to hang in a spare corner. That's a copy, done by a student at the university, but he has some real antiques too."

"Has he acquired anything recently?" Jack stepped in, this could be the route they needed to go down.

"Yes, sir," she turned and smiled, "two Chinese vases, they're Ming, apparently. He's been teaching me about art history and antiques."

Phryne could see the girl was genuinely interested and at the same time wondered if it was just housekeeping she did for Raymond Cross.

"Where did he get them?"

Miss Harris showed them into the parlour where two Chinese style vases were displayed in a cabinet. Phryne went to look more closely, not that she knew much about Ming vases but she knew someone who could enlighten her.

"He bought them from a dealer, who imported them from an estate in England."

"May I?" Phryne put her hand on the catch.

"Oh, er, yes, I suppose so, I'll get the key." Miss Harris scuttled out of the room to fetch the key.

"Jack," Phryne pulled him to one side, "we had a pair identical to those, back in the house in Somerset. Only ours are Victorian copies, not worth much at all," she whispered.

"So..."

"I think that Lin would be the best to appraise these," she looked at him, for judgement.

Before he could comment Miss Harris returned with the key to the cabinet.

"I only put them in there this morning." she watched as Phryne picked one of the vases up and turned it around, "we unpacked them last week, Mr Cross looked at them and asked what I thought."

"And what do you think, Miss Harris?" Phryne looked closely at the base of the one she was holding.

"Well," she thought for a moment, "honestly?"

"Honestly ..." Phryne nodded seriously.

"I think they're fakes." It came out in a rush and she reddened at, what she considered, her audacity.

"What brings you to that conclusion?" Jack questioned.

"If you look at them the pattern is not clear enough, it blurs at the edges, the blue is lighter than it should be and the mark on the base is shaky."

"Mr Cross has taught you well," Phryne smiled, "I was going to suggest we get them appraised by a friend of mine, who would know, but I know where these came from."

"Really, Miss Fisher?" Miss Harris gasped, "how so?"

"There is a little chip, here, on the top," the Lady Detective pointed to a barely discernable variation in the line. "That's my fault. I knocked it over when I was younger. It was kept on a table in the hall and I was sliding down the banister ..." she grinned at the memory. "There is also a crack that runs down from it. Boots was in the hall and managed to stop further damage by catching it just as it hit the newel post."

"Did Mr Cross have the same opinion as you?"

"He did, he said he was going to speak to the importer and ask for his money back. He paid for genuine Ming," she folded her arms. "I placed a call to him and asked him to come over. Mr Cross cancelled the cheque so we expected him over quickly."

"And?" Jack looked at Phryne, she was obviously furious and he could guess why. It would appear her father was selling fakes as the real thing, indulging in a fraudulent practice.

"He came over last night, but I was going out, to a exhibition of Venetian glass at the museum. It was an invitation only, and as Mr Cross was unable to attend he asked me to go and then tell him what I thought."

"Did you speak to Mr Cross when you returned?" Jack asked, writing some notes in his pocket book.

"No," her lip trembled, "it was late, he asked me not to and ... oh god," she burst into fresh tears, "he killed him, didn't he, the importer? While I was out."

"His name, Miss Harris," Jack asked gently.

"I'll get his card."

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As they drove away Jack cast a sideways glance at her. She was stony faced, angry with her father for putting Cross in this position, all because he couldn't control his spending.

"Jack," she whispered, her voice shaky, "this, that father has done, is fraud. I need to speak to mother, to find out if it is the first time he has done this. It seems to have been done rather easily."

"Phryne," he pulled over, "first let's find the importer, this Grandison bloke, he's the one that has lost out, his fee for finding the vases, the money he would have spent shipping them out from England - unless your father brought them in, in his suitcase."

"Avoiding import duty," she muttered, setting her mouth in a thin line.

"Quite," he put his hand on her arm, "you can't protect him this time," he sighed.

"I have no intention of doing so," she huffed, angry tears filled her eyes.

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Albert Grandison was not hard to find, or to admit what he had done. He was a rotten liar, according to Phryne, trying to blame Miss Harris, but eventually, after Phryne had assured him that the man who sold him the vases as genuine Ming was about to get the shock of his life, he admitted he had held the weaker man down and his partner poured the drinking water from the jug on Cross's nightstand into his throat while holding his nose. The partner, Abel Cain (his parents' idea of a joke, he huffed when Jack raised his eyebrows at the name) was in the warehouse and went quietly.

As Hugh Collins took both men away to the cells he passed the Inspector the post from that morning, pointing out one from England.

Jack sat in his chair while Phryne took her usual position on the corner of the desk and poured them both a whisky. He was about to apologise for having to go and arrest her father when he saw where the letter had come from - the Metropolitan Police, London.

He sat up and put his glass down. Opening the letter his brow furrowed, "oh bloody hell," he muttered.

Phryne gasped, she didn't remember Jack ever swearing, certainly not in front of her.

"Phryne," he looked up at her, sorrow all over his handsome features, "it's worse than just the vases." He passed her the letter.

She read down the page, her face growing darker and darker with rage.

"He had no right, they are mine!" she threw the letter down on the desk and the whisky down her throat.

"Which is why your mother has reported them stolen and why the police are searching for your father," he picked up the letter, "and, it would appear she has told them he is likely to be visiting you."

"Well, they can have him!" she snapped and slid off the desk.

"Wait!" he grabbed her arm. "Wait, Phryne, he won't go quietly, will he?"

Her shoulders sagged, he was right.

"So, how do we get him home, without him running off when the ship docks in a port, or the plane stops to refuel, Jack?" She couldn't think, it was all too hurtful, what he had done. Taken the paintings Sarcelle had done and gifted to her all those years ago, and while some of the memories were painful in the extreme, the paintings were the one good thing that had come out of her time in Paris.

"Go with him," he said, "you can hold on to his passport ..."

"Jack, really?" she groaned. The prospect of a month long sea journey or an eleven day flight with only her father for company made her heart sink. "Surely he needs a police escort."

The phone rang, interrupting their thoughts.

"Inspector Robinson, yes ... I see ... I suppose so." He appeared to be thinking while conversing with whoever was on the other end of the line. "Well, in that case, I'd better go ... no, sir, he won't get away." He put the phone down and leant back in his seat. "Would you go if you had someone else for company?" A twinkle appeared in his eye.

"Jack?" she drew the question out.

"That was the Chief Commissioner, the Met sent him a copy if this letter. He wants your father escorted to England on the first boat that is going that way. Said officer is to hand him over to the Met and return when the case is finished."

"So ..." she started to smile, "you've just volunteered, haven't you?"

"The state will pay my passage, though it won't be luxurious, and your father's equally as basic ..."

"Can I upgrade you?" she smirked, certain thoughts in her mind, and she had a feeling in his too, "perhaps a stateroom?"

"And your father?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, he can languish in the bilges," she shrugged, "or sort himself out."

"Only, it will be your money he uses, again," Jack reminded her.

"True, well," she returned to her perch on the corner of his desk and poured another whisky for them both, "he can have what the state will pay for, you can hold his passport, and, Jack ..." she grinned, "... perhaps we can have dinner together, just the two of us."

He grinned back and raised his glass.

"How do we get him on board, he'll go into hiding if we tell him what's going on?" she sighed.

"We don't," he sipped his drink, "we book the trip, first, then you load him into the taxi, the red raggers will help, Mr Butler can pack for him, and take him to the docks with you, no handcuffs, just a trip home with his daughter. I'll join you on board."

"Jack, you are sneaky," she smiled, "I rather like that."

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They spent the next two hours arranging the passage to England: she booked a stateroom for herself, a smaller, but luxurious berth for Jack, which Phryne had no intentions he would be using, much, and what the state would pay for her father, second class, which she declared was more than he deserved.

"Well," Jack sighed, "I suppose I'd better take you home."

"I'd invite you for dinner, but it does mean ..." she heaved a sigh.

"No worries, I'll accept the invitation, knowing we will not be alone and able to discuss the trip."

She thought he was more than she deserved. Most men would have given up by now, and just dropped her off at the door, but Jack put up with Henry, just so he could spend some time in her company. It would be a week before they sailed, until then they had to keep up the pretence that everything was alright, make sure he didn't get any mail from his wife and continue to allow him to stay in Phryne's home.

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They stood in the doorway, trying not to appear too annoyed as Henry smiled and greeted them as if it were his home. Phryne looked at Jack, he rolled his eyes and nodded.

"I'll just go and see what Mr Butler has decided on for dinner, Jack," she touched his arm, "let him know how many to set for. Then, if you'll excuse me, I'll change."

"Of course, Miss Fisher," he bowed his head politely, knowing he would have to spend at least an hour in the Baron's company.

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Mr Butler was stirring something on the stove, it smelled delicious and Phryne's mouth watered.

"Good evening, Miss," he turned and smiled his gentle smile, "I wondered, perhaps, if the Inspector is dining tonight?"

"He is," she leant on the table, "for his sins."

"Perhaps, miss," Mr Butler moved the pot to the back of the stove, "as it's a warm night, a picnic on the foreshore?"

"Oh, Mr Butler," she sighed, "I think I'll propose you for sainthood."

"Most kind, miss," he inclined his head and lifted the picnic basket from beneath the table.

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Phryne skipped up the back stairs to her room and into her bathroom. She didn't have time for a bath, so settled for a shower and a liberal coating of her favourite body lotion. She slipped her bathing costume on under a lilac silk dress, with a low round neck with wide collar attached, short sleeves and a pleated sash just above her hips, tied to hang to one side. The edges were decorated with a delicate white lace dotted with paste amethysts. She went bare legged and wore some light strappy sandals with a very low heel. Picking up a wide brimmed hat that she had tied a lilac scarf round, and a towel, she headed back down the back stairs to the kitchen.

The picnic basket was on the table, all she needed was someone to share it with.

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Henry was going on and on about the theatre, how he had great plans to redecorate, new seats were needed, more modern lighting ...

Jack barely heard him. He sipped a whisky, slowly, not wanting to be even slightly tipsy when dinner was served. It was going to be a long voyage.

"Excuse me, Inspector," the imperturbable Mr Butler had entered the parlour without a sound, "but you are wanted ..."

"Thank you, Mr Butler," he put down his glass, "looks like duty calls, Lord Fisher," he bowed his head and followed the older man out of the room.

In the hall Mr Butler stopped him, before he opened the front door.

"No, sir, this way," he indicated he should follow him to the kitchen, "Miss Fisher is waiting in here."

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Phryne was smirking at a parcel sitting next to the picnic basket. She had decided Mr Butler must be clairvoyant and was very much looking forward to seeing Jack in the bathers he had seen fit to procure for him.

"Ah, Jack," she grinned, "you're not dressed for this evening's activities, but thanks to Mr B you soon will be." She held up the costume, "can't go swimming in your suit, Inspector."

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They had secreted the picnic basket under the pier, disrobed and run, laughing, into the water, splashing each other like children. Phryne swam away from him, or tried to, but Jack was a strong swimmer and caught her ankle, pulling her backwards and under. They surfaced, locked in an embrace, clinging on to each other. Jack was grateful for the chill of the water helping to keep his need under control. Locking her ankles behind him and just above his bottom she pushed her fingers through his hair and bent her head down, touching his lips with hers. They deepened the kiss until a wave knocked them over. She stood up first, throwing her head back and laughing with pure delight. He pulled her back down and they rolled in the surf until they both found the sand getting into places they'd rather it didn't. A quick dip in the sea to wash it away and they headed to the pier to see what Mr Butler had provided.

They shared small sandwiches, slices of pork pie and cold ham, pieces of cheese. Fresh, sweet tomatoes, crisp, sharp apples and succulent strawberries; all washed down with a perfectly chilled Chenin blanc. Jack leant against a convenient rock and sighed, it had been years since he had been so carefree, yet he wasn't. He had the responsibility of getting Lord Fisher back to England and handing him over to the Metropolitan Police in London, and the small matter of keeping the Honourable Phryne Fisher out of trouble, though that was his personal responsibility, nothing to do with the case. Still, it would make the journey more interesting, and easier than if he was on his own with his lordship.

"When do we tell your father what is going on?" he lifted his arm so she could nestle against his chest, "it's not as if we can keep it a secret, with him in second class."

"I suppose once we set sail," she settled herself comfortably just in the space below his collarbone, "as long as he doesn't get to see his berth, or you, until then."

"Well, I expect there will be a lot of waving people off," he rested his cheek on the top of her head, she smelt of sea and jasmine body lotion, "so that should keep him occupied until it's too late."

They sat in silence for a while. She felt comfortable there, against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"Come on, Miss Fisher," he patted her arm, "time to go home."

"I suppose so," she reluctantly pushed up from her position, "I need to talk to Mr B, and Dot ..." she sighed.

"... the red raggers?" he smiled and stood up, extending his hand to her.

"Yes, them too," she let him pull her to her feet, "I wonder if Aunt P would like some extra staff, she doesn't have a butler and Dot can turn her hand to most things."

"She and Collins are getting married, though," he slipped his trousers and shirt on, over his bathing costume, still slightly damp and waited while Phryne slipped her dress over hers.

"Mmm ... true," she picked up her shoes, hat and towel, "but she doesn't want to sit at home waiting for Hugh. They have agreed she will be a working wife."

"Really?" he lifted the basket and held out his hand, "I would have thought he would expect her to give up her job."

"He did, until she handed the ring back," she took his hand and they began their walk back to Wardlow, "Dot is not going to be a push over."

Jack laughed, some of Phryne was rubbing off on the young woman, he thought.

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Phryne didn't see too much of Jack over the following week, he had paperwork to finish and the station to organise for his temporary replacement. She spoke to Mr Butler while her father was out, and Dot she took out to tea at the Windsor. But first she went to see her aunt.

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"Hello, Aunt P," she called, climbing out of the Hispano, "how's the decorating?" she grinned cheekily. Re-decorating was the excuse Mrs Stanley had given when her brother in law had tried to engineer a stay at her house.

"Phryne, dear," Prudence greeted her with a kiss to her cheek, "now, don't be naughty, child, you know it was the only thing I could think of to stop your father getting comfortable here." She looked around, "he isn't with you, is he?"

"Absolutely not, Aunt P, why on earth would I do that to you?" Phryne linked arms with her and they headed into the house.

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"So, why the visit?" Prudence rang for tea, "not that I don't enjoy your visits ..."

"Just wanted to let you know I'm taking father back to England, by sea," Phryne and Jack had agreed she didn't need to know what he had been up to, "and wondered if you would like temporary use of Mr B and Dot. Though, as Dot is about to get married, you might just have to make do with her part-time."

"Oh, well ..." Prudence held Mr Butler in high regard, and thought Dot was sweet and an excellent seamstress.

"I shall continue to pay their wages," Phryne wondered if this was reason for her reticence.

"It's not that dear, of course, I can afford to pay them myself," Prudence brushed that aside, "I would certainly find Mr Butler useful, and Dorothy too, but are you sure?"

"Well, I can't really throw them out on the streets, can I?" Phryne smiled, "and Dot will want to be kept busy. I thought I might suggest she and Hugh stay at Wardlow, temporarily, until I get back. Dot can carry on detecting and helping Hugh and whoever is in charge at City South."

"City South?" Prudence sat up, "where will Inspector Robinson be?"

"He's going to England too," she and Jack had agreed Prudence was to know this much, "on a case."

"Well, perhaps he can help you keep your father in line," Mrs Stanley pursed her lips, "he can be rather a handful, dear, and I know you aren't exactly close."

"He drives me mad, Aunt Prudence," Phryne answered truthfully, "so yes, I suppose having Jack around will help. I'm not looking forward to it, I can tell you."

"Just make sure he doesn't spend all your money in the bars and at the card tables," Prudence warned.

"Perhaps I should make him an allowance, until we get home," Miss Fisher laughed, "treat him like an adolescent."

"A small one, dear," Prudence smiled.

So it was settled: Mr Butler would remove himself to Mrs Stanley's home the day after Phryne left for England, Dot would go over three times a week, unless she was needed more often, and Prudence refused to let Phryne pay their wages.

Only Jack and Phryne knew the true reason for Lord Fisher going home.


	2. Chapter 2

Phryne wandered through the house, touching things, precious things, everyday objects so much part of her life now, and sighed. She had no idea how long she would be away, how bad a mess her father had run away from and how her mother was coping.

Henry had been cheered at the thought of a trip away with his daughter, when she told him over dinner. Phryne knew how to have a good time, the theatre alterations could wait a little while, she teased.

"Right oh," he grinned, raising his glass of wine, "sounds lovely."

Phryne's smile didn't reach her eyes, but he didn't notice, nor did he ask any questions about the trip.

'No wonder he gets taken for a ride, so often,' she thought.

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"Everything is set for tomorrow, Miss," Mr Butler set her whisky down in the parlour, where she sat on the window seat. "Mr Yates and Mr Johnson will be here to collect the luggage in the morning."

"Thank you, Mr B," she looked up, sadness in her eyes, "I hope I'm doing the right thing," she lifted her glass, "this subterfuge."

"If I may be so bold," Mr Butler inclined his head slightly, "you have to get him back to England, would he really go willingly if he knew the reason?"

"You're right," she swallowed the last of her drink, "I'm going to bed, early start. Goodnight, Mr B."

"Goodnight, Miss," he smiled his gentle smile, life was going to be rather quiet for a while.

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It had been arranged that Cec and Bert would take the Baron and Miss Fisher's luggage to the port and have it loaded on to the ship, then she would drive herself and her father in the Hispano with Mr Butler, as she put it, 'riding shotgun', Dot would join them, to say goodbye. He would take the car to Mrs Stanley's with him and use it to ferry her about in Phryne's absence.

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Henry was infuriatingly bright over breakfast, worse than a small child, Phryne thought, though what he would be like when they arrived at the port she dreaded to think. While he downed the last of his coffee she nipped up to his room and took his passport from the bedside table drawer. She had asked Mr Butler, when he was 'buttling' to search for it and check it was in date.

"It would be no good if we got to the port to find it had run out," she grimaced, "so, if you'd be so kind ..."

She slipped it into her handbag, along with hers. While on board ship she was going to have the purser lock it away in his safe, she was taking no chances that he might run off when visiting a port. She wasn't even sure she would allow him to leave the ship until they got to England.

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The port was bustling when they arrived and it took a few minutes before she could find Cec and Bert in the mix of travellers, crew and general hangers on. They saw her first and sauntered over. She had asked them to help her if Henry should become 'difficult', once he realised where they were going.

And there it was, the seeds of doubt began to float in his mind, "Phryne," he murmured, "where _are_ you taking me?"

"Home, father, to mother," she set her mouth in a firm line, "come along now," she sounded like a mother chivvying her recalcitrant son along, "up the gang plank with you."

Cec and Bert appeared at each side, ready to take him firmly by the elbows. She had told them there was no need to be gentle and that if he decided to run the Inspector would be close at hand.

"But, Phryne," he didn't move from his seat in the car, "my passport ..."

She lifted it out of her handbag, waved it and quickly returned it, "now, move."

"I ..."

"What, father?" she turned and snapped, "we are going home, you have business to deal with in London, as have I," she turned to the red raggers, "gentlemen, if you please."

Cec and Bert squeezed the Baron's elbows, "we've found it's no use arguing with Miss Fisher, Baron," Bert muttered, "best do as she says."

He looked from left to right, realisation dawned, somehow Phryne had found out he had sold her paintings, but how? They hung in her personal sitting room, off her bedroom in the house in Somerset. Surely, while she was here, in Australia, nobody went in there, did they? He knew Margaret missed her daughter, did she sit in there, when he wasn't around? But why did he need to go home, why was Phryne hell bent on taking him back? Oh, he loved his wife, he truly did, but ... He sighed. Perhaps he could 'go missing' when they docked in a port along the way.

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Jack stood leaning against the rail, watching the scene play out. He could see Henry was reluctant but so far the raggers seemed to have him under control. He, himself had had his luggage stowed in his, first class, cabin, had acquainted himself with the whereabouts of Lord Fisher's accommodation - he was pleased to see that, although it was second class, it wasn't too far from his cabin and Phryne's stateroom. His Police identification card had come in handy - he had told the steward that he needed to make sure the Honourable lady was close enough for him to guard should there be any trouble during the voyage. He didn't go into detail of the trouble she may find herself in, but safe to say, he was only thinking of protecting her from her father, who he told the steward was needed in England to answer some questions. Jack had agreed with Miss Fisher that he would keep out of sight, if he wasn't needed to get Henry on board, and, he would greet them as the ship drew out of port, at Henry's cabin. Phryne was going to delay as much as possible by waving to Dot and Mr Butler, Dr Macmillan had said she would try to come and see her off, and Aunt Prudence was going to be there, to make sure Henry was really leaving the country.

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They were underway, all waving done and Phryne breathed a short sigh of relief. Too far from shore to swim she felt she could now show her father his cabin, if she could find a steward. Again, Jack had seen to it that the steward he had asked to show him round was available to escort Phryne and her father to their accommodation, and as she looked around the steward approached her.

"Miss Fisher?" he smiled, deferentially.

"Yes?"

"Higgins, Miss," he looked at the Baron, committing his face to memory, "Sir, would you like to follow me, I'll show you to your berths."

Phryne was more than capable of finding her way round an ocean liner, indeed she enjoyed the exploration, but this time she was grateful that Jack, she knew it would have been him, had arranged that she would be escorted.

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Her stateroom was large and airy. Elegantly furnished with a large bed, chest of drawers, wardrobe and dressing table, all in the latest style. A comfortable looking chaise longue sat at the end of the bed, and a couple of matching armchairs either side of a small table, completed the furnishings. She had a small bathroom set to one side, the bath was big enough for her to lie in to soak, but there was also a shower. The carpet in the bedroom was deep-piled, soft, even through the soles of her shoes, cream in colour, with fluffy sheepskin rugs set each side of the bed. She smiled and nodded, trying to quiet the, frankly, quite naughty thoughts about what she could get up to in that bed, with a certain officer of the law, or on the rugs.

Henry, when he saw how well his daughter was to be accommodated assumed she would have booked the same for him, but as they moved further away and down to the second class area, began to wonder what she was up to.

Higgins pushed the door of his cabin open, "sir, this is your berth."

Henry stumbled in, prodded by his daughter, and surveyed the small room. there was a single bed on one side and a long, upholstered seat opposite, upon which sat Inspector Robinson. He gasped, while he liked Jack he was sure this was not a social meeting. He said nothing but continued to note what he had for his comfort. Apart from the bed and seat, there was a vanity unit and small wardrobe with drawers at the base. Nothing he didn't need, and everything he did.

"Come in, Lord Fisher, Miss Fisher," Jack stood up and nodded to Higgins, he had been tipped well for his services. The door closed.

"Phryne," Henry turned round, "what ..." he waved his hand at the room.

"The State of Victoria are not prepared to pay for first class accommodation for someone hiding from the law, Lord Fisher," Jack interrupted, "you are to present yourself at the Police Station, Paddington Green, when we dock in a month's time."

"Why?" though he knew full well, why.

"You are charged with the theft of certain art works belonging to Miss Phryne Fisher and absconding with the proceeds." Jack pulled the charge sheet from his inside pocket. "I ask you now, to surrender your passport and, while on board, you will stay away from any card games or gambling of any kind. Food and drink has been paid for and you are free to wander the ship during the voyage."

Phryne passed her father's passport over to Jack, wordlessly, and he slipped it into his pocket, with the charge sheet, both of which would be lodged in the purser's office, in the safe.

"We'll leave you to un pack, father," she said, tersely, "Jack," she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and they left the stunned Baron to muse upon his situation.

Jack could feel the tension in her body, she was stiff and her mouth was set in a thin line. There were also tears in her eyes and he wanted to take her and hold her while she cried away her frustrations. As they headed to the purser's office he mused on their relationship. Up to now they had been 'colleagues', friends, dinner partners but lately he had noticed a softening in her manner towards him, little touches, looks and smiles. More frequent invitations to dinner, just the two of them, that had been thwarted with the appearance of her father; then Mr Butler, that ever observant worker of wonders, had seen and thought, and set the picnic for them and now he felt she had deeper feelings for him, deeper than she had had for any of the other men she had dallied with. After the incident with Rene, the truth that had come out about her time in Paris, he had come to understand why she hadn't given her heart to any man since, her body, yes, but not her heart.

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She always thought she knew what Jack was thinking, but now, as they walked together she could not be sure. Her feelings for him had grown more than she ever thought they could. She had enjoyed their detecting together, the way he seemed to get irritated as she ran around, climbed into windows and snuck around in the dead of night, but ultimately she, Phryne Fisher, had fallen in love, properly fallen, for a steady, strong, reliable, not to mention, rather handsome, man. His presence at her side, as they walked along the deck, was a reassuring one, and she was glad he had volunteered to escort her father back to England. Perhaps they would get some time to 'explore' their relationship, maybe she could give her heart again, with the knowledge that he was a good man, a man who would not use her and throw her out when he had had enough, or hurt her when she didn't follow his lead.

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The purser was only too happy to stow the passport and charge sheet away in the safe and agreed that only one or the other of them was to be allowed to take it out at any time.

"Now, Miss Fisher," Jack held the door open for her, "perhaps some coffee is in order, or tea ..."

"I have to unpack, Inspector, but you can watch if you want to," she started to smile, "I assume you have already done yours."

"I have," he returned her smile, "so, perhaps tea in your stateroom?" This could be the most dangerous idea he had had, and they had not left Australian waters, yet. Also, he was more than aware that as she was related to the miscreant, Henry was hardly a criminal, he was escorting back to England, he would have to be careful about pursuing her. Fortunately she was the aggrieved party in this story, so at least he wasn't consorting with a known felon.

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Her unpacking seen to, he hadn't even blushed when she shook out certain items before stowing them in the wardrobe or chest, they sat on the chaise and sipped the tea the steward had brought.

"Relax, Phryne," he set his cup down and turned to her, "he can't go anywhere."

"I know," she sighed, "I'm sorry, Jack, it's just ... a girl should be able to turn to her father, shouldn't she? Not the other way round."

"I suppose so," he agreed, "my sister was very close to dad, in a different way to me. He was protective, I don't know how he would have reacted when she became interested in boys. With me he was firmer, still loving, but he would push me to be the man he thought I should be ..."

"He did a good job," she murmured, "I think I would have liked him."

"You know," he slipped his arm round her shoulders," I think he would have liked you, he had a wicked sense of humour and didn't think women were subservient to men."

"And you?"

"Oh, I have no doubt you are a lot smarter than we men give you credit for," he grinned, "now, how about we explore the ship, Miss Fisher, the last time I was on such a long voyage was during the war, and it was not as pleasant as this."

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They strolled arm in arm along the decks, taking note of the restaurants, salons and the library. There was enough to keep them occupied: shuffleboard and deck quoits, a sea water swimming pool and loungers set in groups and pairs where they could sit and talk or read, take tea or coffee.

"We stop, briefly, in Freemantle," she noted from the itinerary she had picked up, "best keep an eye on father then."

"Mmm ... yes." He agreed, "perhaps we should get out of him why he took your paintings, what made him think he could get away with it."

"Alright, but I think I know the answer to that," she huffed, "he's probably spent all the money. But, we should let him know that trying to sell the vases as genuine Ming led to the murder of a young man that had done nothing to deserve such a fate."

"I wonder what Miss Harris did with them," he mused.

"She gave them back to me, and I finished what I started all those years ago on the stairs," she pursed her lips.

He turned and raised his eyebrows, "really?"

"They have caused too much trouble," she looked into his eyes, "I got a thorough beating for my unladylike behaviour, and I never liked them anyway."

"But, what about your mother?" he wondered if Lady Fisher liked them.

"I'm sure I can find something much nicer to replace them with," she smiled, "perhaps in one of the ports, like Colombo or Bombay."

"Right, well, you will know what you are looking for," he squeezed her arm.

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They stood together outside Henry's cabin, determined to get the truth out of him. They had enjoyed dinner together, the previous evening, sat in the salon and listened to a string quartet playing a light classical selection then strolled, arm in arm back to her stateroom.

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"Nightcap, Inspector?" she lowered her eyes demurely, though there was nothing demure about her thoughts.

"Just one, Miss Fisher, it's been a busy day," he waited for her to unlock the door and precede him inside.

She poured them a whisky each and they sat side by side on the chaise. She gazed into the amber liquid, watching the light catch and throw sharp shapes on her hands. Much as she had flirted with Jack over the months, been quite open about her intentions, she was quite content to sit here, with him, in the cool of the late evening. She had never been 'courted' before. Rene had found her modelling for Pierre and taken her without pause or thought. Thinking back to one of the conversations she had overheard at her aunt's one charity evening, that she was little more than a trollop, perhaps they had been right. Suddenly she felt almost dirty, and that Jack deserved someone so much better than her. She bit her lip.

"Phryne?" he looked at her, seeing sadness and hurt in her eyes, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm just being silly," she tossed her head and sniffed the threatened tears away.

"I know you, Phryne Fisher," he put his drink down and reached over to touch her hand, "and 'nothing' is not what is going round in your head."

"Sorry, too many memories decided to surface," she tried to smile, "you know how it is?"

He waited.

"I was just thinking," she shifted closer, "you are too good for me."

"What on earth brought this on?" he was truly surprised, "has someone said something?"

"It's just that, well, nobody has ever entered into a 'courtship' with me," she watched for his reaction, "and that's what this feels like."

"And is it to your liking, Miss Fisher?" he wasn't sure he was 'courting' the Lady Detective, not in the usual sense. It was true he didn't want to move too fast, for him, anyway, and spoil the relationship they had at this time, in spite of rolling around in the surf a week ago. Besides, he was enjoying making her wait.

"I'm not sure," she leant her head on his shoulder, "depends what your next move is," she added, cheekily.

"Hm ..." he appeared to consider that, then, "how about ..." he put his forefinger under her chin and tipped her head up, "this ..." He bent his head to hers and kissed her very gently. He felt her melt against him, and part her lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

When they finally parted she was pink cheeked and slightly breathless.

"Oh, Jack," she breathed.

He pulled her against him and she wrapped her arms round his body, cuddling into him and sighing. At this moment she didn't need anything else, just this surety. She allowed her eyes to close and listened to the steady thump thump thump of his heart. He leant his cheek against the top of her head and stroked her arm, smiling to himself. The whirlwind that was the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective, liked to snuggle.

Her breathing changed and she moved her head. Jack could sense she was falling asleep and, while it would be rather nice to have her lie on his chest all night, on the chaise it would not be comfortable for long. He shifted and slipped his free arm under her knees and, pushing himself off the seat, lifted her up and carried her to the bed. She stirred enough to know what he was doing but let him carry on, wondering how far he would go. Not far enough, in her opinion. He lay her gently on the bed and kissed her forehead.

"Sleep well, Phryne," he whispered.

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She had slept well, surprisingly for her, and now they stood ready to question Lord Fisher, and find out what was going on at the estate, then Phryne was going to send a telegram to her mother to tell her Henry was on his way home.

Henry grunted and turned over, trying to ignore the incessant pounding on the door, but when Phryne's voice cut through that he decided that if he didn't unlock the door she would do it her way.

"Father!" she yelled, "I know you're in there, open up, or ..." more pounding.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled, stumbling out of the narrow bed and feeling for his dressing gown, his eyes still half closed, "keep your hair on."

"What?" he opened the door, "Oh, it's you."

"Morning, Father," she pushed the door fully open and she and Jack stepped in. "The steward doesn't do room service, I expect you've missed breakfast." She sat down on the long seat and Jack sat close, but not too close, and opened his notebook. He was going to let Phryne take the lead this time, unless she got too emotional.

"Now," she placed her hands on her knees, "I would like to know what is going on."

"Nothing, Phryne," he relaxed back on the bed, "really, you know how business works ..."

"I'm not interested in your 'business', your schemes, I want to know why you saw fit to sell art works that do not belong to you, and to pass copies of Chinese vases as genuine Ming."

"I did no such thing," he huffed, "those vases ..."

"... were the copies that sat in the hallway, the ones that I chipped and you thrashed my backside over. The young man that bought them died, was murdered, because he asked for his money back from the go-between you hired." She glared at her father and Jack watched as he shrank back a little from her.

"Now, Phryne, dear," he stuttered.

"Don't Phryne dear me!" she stood up, "you are directly responsible for that young man's death."

"Buyer beware, Phryne, you know that," he tried to smile.

"Rubbish! You knew they were copies, that's fraud," she snapped.

"Your mother never liked them," he muttered.

"That's by the by," she huffed, "why did you sell my paintings, you didn't have my permission, so we'll add theft to the charges?"

"Phryne," he tried to appeal to her better nature, "running an estate is an expensive business, you have no idea."

"Not that expensive," she folded her arms, "there was plenty in the bank, when I left ..."

"You don't know that," he raised his eyebrows and tried to ignore the rumbling of his stomach, "how could you?"

"When I went to the bank to arrange the transfer of my trust fund the manager very kindly showed me the estate finances," she stood up, "there was enough to pay the staff wages and other outgoings for years. Of course it would have been better if you had invested some in low risk ventures to bring in income, but there should have been no need to go around the house finding things to sell, especially things that weren't yours to sell in the first place."

"He shouldn't have done that," Henry was horrified that the manager had done such a thing. "Bank managers are supposed to keep such things confidential."

"I reminded him that I was the sole child of the marriage and would have to look out for my parents should they become too infirm to do so, and that I wanted to see that they were able to run the estate for the foreseeable future, without my intervention." She tried not to smile at the wiles she had employed to find out the financial status of the estate. She was sure that she was not taken seriously, that the manager thought she would not be able to understand the ins and outs of banking and that was why he had been so compliant.

Henry could think of no reply to this, it would seem his daughter knew him rather too well.

"What do you intend to do about my paintings?" she asked.

"Um, they've been sold," he mumbled, "the new owner ... loves them," he tried to look brighter at the thought that pictures of his daughter hung on the walls of a stately home in the Norfolk countryside.

"So, you are happy for paintings of your daughter, naked, to be on show to other members of the aristocracy, while she is still living?" Phryne may be flirtatious, wear some provocative outfits, but she didn't parade about nude in public, and somehow she felt ... vulnerable. It was a strange feeling, but it was the only one she could think of. She checked her buttons were all fastened, then stopped herself and inwardly chided herself for being silly.

"They don't know you," he reached out to touch her hand but she flinched away.

"I'm in the papers often enough, and even though it's more in Australia than England, news travels fast ..."

Jack wasn't sure how he felt about her being seen, naked, by other men, now. It was a curious mix of emotions, she didn't belong to him, was not his wife or fiancée, but still, he didn't think he liked it, much.

"Look, father," she took a deep breath, "the truth is you have drained the family dry, and the only way out of it was to sell valuables. Firstly, what did you spend the money on, no wait, I don't think I want to know, then why? Why in god's name do you have to spend like money burns a hole in your pocket? What about mother? What have you left her with? I need to know who you sold the paintings to and for how much, and then I want them back."

"But Phryne ..." he protested.

"No buts, father," she stood up, "I will have them back."

Jack stood up, there was nothing he could add, Phryne was well within her rights to demand the return of the pictures, but he doubted it would happen.

"Please do not attempt to leave the ship, Lord Fisher," he offered Phryne his arm, "the crew have their orders."

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As they pulled away from Freemantle docks Jack felt her relax, for the first time in days. They had about a week in open sea before they docked in Colombo, Henry couldn't get far, though they could lose him on board, she had mused the previous evening.

"He knows where your stateroom is," Jack raised his eyebrow and lifted the whisky decanter, "though there is always mine," he winked.

Phryne pretended to be affronted at the suggestion she would share a cabin with him, but she couldn't keep that up and burst out laughing.

"Jack, are you suggesting ...? Really, Inspector, what kind of girl do you think I am?"

He just grinned and raised his glass to her.

Though they had spent the entire day together, dined and danced and she had flirted outrageously with him, which was not unusual, both had to admit, and that was as far as either of them intended it to go, that night. They had their usual nightcap, and Jack was amused to see she had packed the draughts set. They played two games, ending in a win for each, but as she set up for the third, deciding match, he took her hand, "I've a better idea," he hummed against her wrist, "come here."

Something about his quiet, almost authoritative tone, made her do as he asked. He shifted on the couch and pulled her gently so she fell onto his knee.

"Hello, Jack," she breathed.

"Sh," he put his arms round her and slipped a hand up her back to the nape of her neck and started to nibble her neck then her jaw line, finally finding his way to her red painted lips. When they eventually broke from the kiss they were breathless, Phryne had certainly not expected a kiss of such intensity or length. It left her speechless, which left Jack feeling rather smug - silencing Miss Fisher was no easy task.

She leant in again and nibbled his earlobe, slipping her hand down to undo his bow tie and the top buttons of his shirt. As she slipped fingers under the crisp cotton of the garment he grabbed her hand and shook his head, smiling slightly. She pouted. It made him smile, so, instead of kissing her good night ...

"Be a good girl, Phryne," he whispered, "good things come to those who wait."

As she opened her mouth to reply he covered it with his own and she forgot all about whatever she was going to say. Even as one of his hands brushed her breast through the thin beaded silk of her gown she didn't let him break the connection and he liked that he was making her breaths come faster. The hand slid down her side and his fingers ruched her dress until he was touching the naked flesh just above her stocking top. As he made little circles with his thumb she felt his desire press against her hip. She wanted to move, to straddle him but either he wouldn't let her or she couldn't actually move.

She slipped her hand down to the waistband of his trousers, but he held her so close she couldn't release the buttons, and she couldn't move to make the room. His fingers were now inside her French knickers, he could feel her, almost desperate, need, the wet warmth that flooded the fabric. His plan, if he had had one, was to give her pleasure, his pleasure would be to see her, to see if he could undo her and it appeared he could. His fine, pianist's fingers slipped inside her, deep inside her and moved slowly, rhythmically, until she started to beg, plead rocking with him until she arched her back and screamed his name, finally becoming weightless in her undoing.

When she at last came back to herself she melted against him and sighed.

"Alright?" he removed his hand.

She could only nod and curl against him, wondering if he, personally, always had such control, his hardness still pressed against her. Oh how she would like to give him the pleasure he had just given her, fully, but she didn't have her device in and wasn't sure she could summon up the strength to go and see to it.

"Jack ?"

"Hm ..." he nuzzled against her neck.

She traced her fingers down his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt, and this time he didn't stop her. Gradually regaining her strength and sense of purpose she helped him out of his shirt and singlet, revealing his muscular chest, strong and wide, sparse hair across between his nipples and the line of hair from his belly button disappearing under the waistband of his trousers. She became excited at the prospect of finally having Jack Robinson make love to her and damn the device! She unbuttoned his trousers, freeing him from the formal evening wear, then from the confines of his drawers and held him. Jack knew that there was no going back now, and deftly, expertly lifted her dress over her head leaving her sitting on his lap in pale blue silk underwear. A bra that he dealt with swiftly, leaning in to taste her, circle her nipples with his tongue. She was already in ecstasy, rocking against him again. He slipped his hand in his trouser pocket then lifted her up and stepped out of his clothes and took her over to the bed, lying her down and gazing upon her slight, beautiful form. She was moaning and writhing with need, lifting her hips for him to remove her knickers which he did with practised ease then ... she saw what he had retrieved from his pocket and snatched it off him. She undid the small packet and rolled the protection down his length, almost undoing him at her touch. He threw his head back and bit his lip, determined not to lose it now.

He filled her completely, so much so it was almost painful, a delicious pain she didn't remember ever experiencing, the release took her out of her body, again, and as his final thrust signalled his own release she smiled and groaned in harmony with him.

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She shifted against his side and murmured something unintelligible. The movement woke him briefly and he smiled, putting his arm under her and lifting her so she lay on his chest, the top of her head just under his chin.

They slept on for at least another hour, until Phryne's bladder and stomach both indicated they were full and empty, in that order. She blinked, and for a moment wondered what the noise was, in her ear, it certainly wasn't the ship's engine, too rhythmic. She lifted her head and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, embarrassed to see she had drooled on Jack's chest. The noise was his heart beating. Reluctantly she pushed herself up and slipped out of bed, pulling on a satin robe, black, extravagantly embroidered with flowers and birds of paradise.

In the bathroom, as she attended to her body's needs she mused on the previous night. One thing was for sure, she thought, Jack Robinson certainly knew what he was doing when he made love.

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	3. Chapter 3

Jack turned over and watched her head into the bathroom. They needed to talk, seriously, but Phryne never took anything seriously, except perhaps a murder. Last night he felt he had finally known her, understood her. She was a deeply sensual and sexual woman, generous and open hearted ... and fragile and vulnerable - all at the same time. He was staring into space when she came back out of the small side room, it made her smile, he was obviously deep in thought. She hoped he didn't regret last night, she certainly didn't; in fact, if he cared to repeat the experience she would be more than happy to join him. However, she knew that Jack would, likely as not, prefer not to be one of her dalliances, that he did not want to share her, goodness, he'd said as much, admittedly while slightly drunk, but he meant it. So, was he to be a 'dalliance'? Then it hit her, and she gasped, he was the only man for her, she couldn't imagine being with anyone else - no young university student, no dance teacher, no Italian restaurant owner, no Greek showman; actually that one hadn't gone so well, he was only interested in showing her how strong he was; no, it was Jack or no one. She pushed all of these thoughts to the back of her mind, to be used when they talked, as she knew was inevitable.

"Phryne," he turned at the gasp and held out his hand, "you alright?"

"Fine," she trotted over to the bed and sat next to him, "you?"

"Oh Phryne," he shook his head and smiled, "anybody would think we'd just been for a walk ..."

"... some walk," she laughed and took his hand, "I rather like 'walking' with you, Inspector, most ... er ... most ... uplifting?"

"Uplifting you say," he pulled her close, "well, perhaps ... " her stomach rumbled, "later, got to keep your strength up, so ... breakfast?" he laughed.

She joined in his laughter and watched him pull on his dinner suit from the previous evening and head out to his own berth. It amused her more than it should to see Jack so dishevelled yet smiling, and yes, whistling, as he slung his jacket over his shoulder and sauntered out.

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Somehow he knew that the knock on the door was his Lady Detective. She smiled as he answered the door, his tie undone. At least this time the Deputy Commissioner wouldn't interrupt them!

His tie perfectly tied, Jack offered Phryne his arm and they made their way to the restaurant for breakfast. Normally, she could make do with a slice of toast and some coffee, but today she wanted more. They sat at a table and ordered a selection of breads and breakfast pastries, which was brought to them arranged elegantly in a basket, preserves and a large pot of coffee.

Phryne took a long drink of the strong coffee and sighed. Jack watched her wake up and grinned. He tipped the basket towards her and she took a croissant and a piece of crusty bread. He helped himself to the same and added strawberry conserve. Phryne preferred apricot and pasted it liberally onto her croissant, piece by piece, as she quite delicately ate it.

A piece of the flaky pastry stuck to the corner of her mouth and he reached out to wipe it into her mouth with his finger. As he did so she took his finger between her teeth and gently nipped it, gazing at him from under her lashes, sultry and coy.

"A crumb," he hummed.

"Of course, what else?"

He did that little quick nod-tip of his head and smiled, what indeed?

"So, Miss Fisher," he poured more coffee, "what shall we do today?"

She tipped her head and thought. She could suggest they head back to her stateroom and repeat the previous night's activity but they had a whole month to do that, perhaps a game, shuffleboard or quoits?

Instead she opted for a stroll round the deck, perhaps a swim in the pool.

And so began the week long cruise to Colombo, where they would dock for a day. The ship would pick up supplies and some of the passengers could head into the city, sightseeing or just walking in the Victoria Park. Before then they did indeed stroll around the decks, became acquainted with some of the other passengers and dined at the Captain's table. By the time they docked at Colombo they had talked.

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They didn't set out to have the conversation there and then. It just happened, which was probably the best way, considering how both dodged such subjects, or Phryne did. They had been in the pool, studiously avoiding her father, that day. He had knocked on her door, that morning, hoping to squeeze some money out of her, just for a little extra at the bar later on, perhaps a game or two of cards.

She put her finger on Jack's lips and shushed him, then slipped out of bed and shrugged on her robe. Pushing her hair back from her face she padded over to the door, and mentally prepared herself for his wheedling.

"Phryne, darling," he tried to push his way in, but she blocked the entrance, "right, well," he cleared his throat, "just wondered if, maybe, a little extra, pay you back, of course ..."

"Father, I have as much chance of you paying me back any of the money you owe me as a snowball in hell," she sighed sadly, "no, is the answer. You are being fed and your berth is paid for, so go and read a book, or something ..."

She tried to push the door closed, but he held it with his hand.

"Now, Phryne," he whined, "is that any way to talk to your father?"

She glared at him.

In the bed, unseen by Henry, Jack wondered if he should go and help her, but she didn't want her father to know about her growing relationship with the Inspector, and would probably resent that he thought she couldn't deal with the situation, by herself.

Stalemate. The more she glared at him, the more he stood his ground.

"Go away," she hissed, "you are getting no more money out of me." She pressed his arm down with her free hand and pushed the door closed. He heard the click of the key turn as she locked it, and turned sadly away.

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Jack watched her press her forehead to the cool of the wood and clench and unclench her fists. Knowing she would not want him to intrude on her thoughts he waited, patiently, for her to return to him in the bed, and he would try to offer the kind of support she needed.

She breathed in and out, deeply, then straightened her back and turned. She didn't smile, even for the delight that waited her in the bed. Jack met her gaze and nodded her over, holding out his arms. At first she just looked at him, tears threatening, and although she hated herself for wanting to cry she went over to the bed and accepted his warm chest as a pillow and the steady beat of his heart. She lay there not looking at him, gradually relaxing and then allowing the tears to fall. He stroked her arm and kissed the top of her head but didn't say anything, just let her work out her frustration.

"Sorry," she lifted her head and sniffed.

"Don't be," he murmured, "I'm just surprised he had the gall to come and ask for money, given the reason he is languishing in second class on the way home to a police investigation."

"He really thinks that charm will get him off," she inched further up, "but I don't intend to let him get away with it."

"There isn't any way he could get your money, is there?" he drew his brows together, "I don't want you to have to fight that battle."

She looked at him, puzzled, then realised he really only wanted to know that she would not have to fight to hold on to her independence.

"No," she rested her chin in her hands, "it was settled by the estate, into a trust for me, when I reached twenty five. The only way I lose control of my money is if I marry, then it falls to my husband."

"Well," he grinned, "that's alright, then. You've always said you're not the marrying kind."

"Do you mind?" she asked, "me not being the marrying kind?"

"It's your life, Phryne," he lifted his head to bend and kiss her, "as long as I can be a small part of it ..."

"I rather hope you'll be a big part of it," she started to run her fingers through the hairs on his chest, "you are quite a significant part, already."

"That's rather nice to know, because," he sighed, "I really can't imagine you not being around, it would be awfully quiet, and terribly lonely."

"So ...?"

"Let's see how it goes, for now," he undid the tie on her robe and pushed it back over her shoulders, "we can always make any other decisions when we have to."

"Oh Jack," she wriggled the robe away and slid her leg between his, grazing his thigh with her curls, "I thought you'd turn tail and run, if I couldn't commit to you."

"Always up for a challenge, Miss Fisher," he trailed his fingers down her side and round her thigh, making her shiver with anticipation, "though I'm not sure ..."

"You can share me? Don't worry Jack, you won't have to," which was almost total commitment from Phryne Fisher.

"In that case, Phryne ..."

No more words were needed as Jack moved to claim her mouth with his and his hand moved back up to her breast, stroking the nipple with his thumb. She moaned into his mouth, pushed her hips against him, feeling his hardness against her leg. She tried to push him onto his back, but he was very much in charge, and held her where she was. His weight pushed her into the mattress and he shifted down her body, kissing her, suckling at her nipples in turn, stroking his hand down to between her legs which she parted enough to let him use his fingers to excite her. HIs head moved down and his tongue tasted her, making her whimper, her hands through his hair, gripping handfuls of his thick locks.

"oh, god, Jack," she breathed, "mmph, urgh, please." She bucked, he moved up to her hip bone, sucking on that, leaving, he knew, a deep mark. He worked his way further up, taking her hands and holding them above her head while he settled over her, pushing her legs apart with his knee, then teasing her with his tip, just at her entrance. She squirmed, raised her knees either side of him, begged him with her eyes to enter her. He did so, slowly, purposefully, then pulled almost all the way out before pushing in again and setting up a rhythm, filling her. She wrapped her legs around him, pressing down on him with her heels, her breaths came in gulps and gasps until he increased his speed and she screamed the release, raising her hips to meet him, holding him until he spilled his seed into her and collapsed onto his elbows, not wanting to crush her with his weight.

They lay there, joined, until she could hold him no more and he slipped out of her.

"Jack ..." she gulped, "where ..."

Where had he learned such a technique, one that could exhaust her, such a wonderful way to become exhausted. Did Rosie ..?

He just smiled and leant forward to kiss the tip of her nose, then rolled to her side and wrapped his arms about her.

Rosie only put up with his attentions because she had been told that, as a wife, she should obey her husband, and it was necessary if she wanted a child. When he returned from the war he was too broken, he needed to be healed before he could be the loving husband she deserved. But Rosie couldn't see that, that he wasn't the returning hero she had read about, just a soldier who had witnessed untold horrors on the battlefield and seen men butchered and buried where they fell. They inevitably grew apart, silent rows were the only conversations, eventually separate beds in separate rooms and then the divorce courts. He had found it strange that once he and Rosie had formally separated he felt free, cleaner, whole again. That was, he knew, due to his new love, the brilliantly lively, intelligent force of nature that lay across his chest, gently dozing in post coital bliss. He would not tell her that a lot of what he had learnt, about how to please a woman, he had learnt in France, from women he had been with when allowed leave in small towns and villages. There was always some girl who was willing to be bedded by an allied soldier and, like most of his compatriots, he took advantage of their services. Phryne would likely as not applaud his antics, after all, she hadn't lived like a nun.

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Henry sat watching his daughter from a chair above the pool. She was very visible, in her red bathing costume contrasting sharply with the black of her hair. He had been sulking, the trip was boring, without card games or evenings in the bar. He wasn't a solitary soul, he liked having people around him, lively conversation and music, dancing if he could find a willing partner, but without a little spare cash in his pocket ... He had tried charging an extra bottle of champagne to Phryne's account, but when it was refused, the bottle was taken away and he sloped off to his cabin to lick his wounds.

She was fully occupied, challenging Jack to a race in the pool, the winner was to choose the next activity. Both had the same idea as to the reward and Phryne wondered if she should purposefully lose, just to see what other tricks he had up his sleeve to entertain her.

Henry stood up and wandered off, apparently for a stroll round the deck. Nobody bothered about the cravat wearing aristocrat, most who had seen him in the bar or second class restaurant knew he was not wealthy, but he still appeared aloof, above those around him on that level of the ship. He found himself at Phryne's stateroom and looked around him. All was quiet, so he took his lock pick out of his pocket and put his rusty skills to use.

Inside the room was tidy, nothing on show to indicate her wealth, not even a jewellery box. The bed had been made, her robe was draped over the foot of it, there was no sign a man had been there, only two hours previously. No extra dent in a pillow, no discarded male clothing, though he did wonder whether or not Jack spent time in her bed. The draughts set was laid out ready for a game on the side table by one of the easy chairs together with a whisky decanter and two glasses. He sat down and poured himself a generous shot of the expensive malt, surveying the room he huffed, this should be the type of accommodation he had, not the small single berth he was afforded. But, to why he was here. He looked round to ascertain where she kept spare cash. Ten pounds should be enough, she wouldn't miss ten pounds.

All the little drawers in the dressing table were unlocked, but contained no cash, not that he was surprised at that. He opened the wardrobe door and moved aside her dresses and coats, blouses, skirts and trousers. He noted the cloth was of the finest available, silks and satins, velvet, wool crepe and fine cotton. At the back, almost hidden in a corner behind the shoes, was a little box. He pulled it out and started with his lock pick again. This lock was more difficult than the door, but he was successful in time. It wasn't a huge roll of banknotes, a hundred or so pounds. He took two five pound notes and was just slipping the box back when he heard breathing behind him.

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Jack had won the race, just. There had been much hilarity and silliness, with each ducking the other under the water, before they swam to where they had left towelling robes at the edge of the pool.

"I suppose you would like to know what activity I have chosen, as my reward," Jack helped her into the robe.

"I have an idea," she purred, "but do tell, Inspector."

He bent and softly kissed her red lips, only Phryne Fisher would wear lipstick to go swimming, "not here," he whispered in her ear, "chargeable offence." He winked, she giggled.

"You are naughty, Jack," she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.

"Learnt from the best," he grinned.

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He put his hand on her arm, and the other to his lips, motioning her to be quiet. She looked at him, quizzically. He nodded to the door, it was not properly closed.

He pushed it slowly, without a sound and they slipped in. The soft carpet and their bare feet made not a sound, and Phryne managed to contain her gasp as she recognised the back of her father, kneeling in front of her wardrobe, putting her lock box away where he found it.

"Can we help you, Lord Fisher?" Jack asked politely, holding Phryne's arm, tight.

Henry froze, lifted his head and took a deep breath, before turning round and smiling his genial smile. One had came swiftly away from his jacket, where he had stowed the two notes in his inside pocket.

"Jack," he grinned, "Phryne ..." He hauled himself up, and turned to face them.

Phryne held out her hand but said nothing. Henry tried to look puzzled, as if he didn't know what she wanted. She wriggled her fingers.

"I suggest, Lord Fisher," Jack growled, "that you return what you just put in your pocket to Miss Fisher, before she has you charged with breaking and entering and theft."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," the Baron raised his eyebrows.

Jack released Phryne's arm and she calmly, much more calmly than he expected, took a step forward and reached into his jacket, pulling out the two five pound notes he had pocketed.

"You are getting no more money out of me," she hissed through gritted teeth, "any money for the estate goes to mother. You don't seem to grasp the reason you are being escorted back to England. You are charged with theft and fraud, father. How much more serious do you want it to be? You can't keep gambling, you lose, every time, and if you're not gambling your money away you're drinking it away. Treating maids and young pretty ladies to little gifts, father ..." she sank down onto the chaise longue, shaking her head, "I don't know what to do with you, I certainly can't trust you to stay out of trouble. Jack?" she looked up at him and his heart sank. She looked tired, saddened.

"I can't throw you in the brig, Lord Fisher ..."

Henry was about to tell him not to be so formal, then thought better of it.

"... but I can confine you to your cabin," it was the only thing he could think of, "I shall speak to the captain, but for now ..." he stood aside for the older man to precede him. Henry looked at his daughter, attempting to appeal to her, but she avoided his eyes.

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Jack took Henry's key and unlocked his cabin door, then stood aside to let him enter.

"You hurt her, you know," he muttered, "your daughter. All this gambling and drinking, running away from trouble instead of facing it, owning up to it."

"Phryne understands," he shoved his hands in his pockets, "she knows me."

"I don't think she does, not anymore," Jack turned the key round in his hand. "She wishes you would learn, from your mistakes, but you don't and the two people you should love the most get hurt in the process - Phryne and your wife. Perhaps this will give you time to think." He pulled the door shut and locked it. He paused and stared at the blank piece of wood that filled the hole in the wall and hid Henry from him. His shoulders dropped and he turned back in the direction of the first class stateroom Phryne was in.

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Phryne had waited for the door to close before she allowed her anger to surface. The nearest thing to hand was a small unassuming ashtray, which she picked up and flung across the room. It bounced off the wall and settled on the carpet, and she supposed she was glad it didn't break. She sniffed and brushed away tears she didn't realise she had shed and decided a bath was in order. She didn't know how long Jack would be away from her, but maybe he would be back in time to wash her back.

As she turned the taps she heard a knock on the door. It wouldn't be Jack, he would just open the door and call out. Turning the taps off she called that she would be just a moment and tied her robe round her slender frame.

"Telegram, Miss Fisher," the young steward handed the paper over.

She smiled, half heartedly and reached over to her purse, handing him a sixpence tip.

"Thanks Miss," he grinned, usually he got a couple of pennies. He touched the peak of his cap and trotted off.

She closed the door and opened the envelope. It was the reply to her telegram to her mother, informing her of her and her father's trip. Though she had neglected to mention the police officer escorting him was an Inspector and dear friend.

"WILL HAVE YOUR SUITE CLEANED STOP FATHER CAN STAY IN THE DOWER HOUSE STOP LOOKING INTO FORMAL SEPARATION STOP MOTHER STOP"

It was no less than she expected. Her mother had finally snapped, and she didn't blame her. No wonder she wasn't interested in marrying, she mused. But, though she didn't blame her mother, it saddened her, that they had come so far and this would be the end, all because the more money her father had the more he spent. It was tiring. She left the telegram on the side table and headed back to the bathroom.

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Jack slipped back into the stateroom worried that the only thing he could think of to occupy Miss Fisher was a mystery or, god forbid, a murder. Something like that would keep her mind off her father and his shenanigans. The captain had agreed that Lord Fisher could remain in his cabin and his meals would be brought to him by a steward. He noticed the telegram on the table but didn't read it, though she seemed to have left it so he could. He could vaguely hear the slosh of water in the bath and smell the rose scented crystals she had liberally shaken into the water.

"Phryne?!" he called, "are you alright?"

"In the bath, Jack!" she called back cheerily, though Jack was sure it would be an act, still, perhaps it would be better to follow her lead.

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He took a deep breath and poked his head round the door. She looked up and grinned, he hadn't changed out of his bathers and robe, good, he could massage her tense shoulders, perhaps her back, too!

The bath took longer than either expected, but not for the reasons she had originally intended. She told him what her mother had put in the telegram and her feelings about it.

"I'm surprised she has lasted this long," she admitted, "but I am sorry she feels she has to take such measures."

"It's not easy, contemplating the ending of your marriage, Phryne," sitting behind her he squeezed warm water over her shoulders, "if she has decided to take this route I doubt it is a decision she has taken lightly."

"No, she's probably been thinking about it for years," she leant back against him, "I suspect even when I was a child. Oh Jack, he says he loves her, she is the only one for him, so why does he treat her this way?"

"I don't know, Phryne, I really don't," he sighed and wrapped his warm arms round her, "I know I couldn't do that to the woman I love ..." which was her, the woman currently lying on his stomach in the bath, "... it seems so cruel, that he should drink and gamble away the money, after living without for so long ..."

"Well, that's it, isn't it?" she sighed, "he's always been the same, a gambler, now he thinks he has the money to indulge ... I doubt he ever looks to see how much there is in the bank and budget accordingly. You don't get paid for being a Baron, well not like I pay Dot or Mr B, the land has to bring in an income, the estate ... somehow."

"Does it? I don't know anything about the estate, how it is managed?" he asked.

"There is a house, of course, with a Dower, that's usually for the mother of the current Baron or can be used for guests; grounds, lovely gardens with a small lake," she stared into space visualising the place she had been taken to as a young girl, "there is a farm, cattle and sheep which has its own manager and a tenant farmer - that's where the majority of the income come into the family. It has to pay the staff and the running costs."

"Does it? Is farming a good way to finance the estate?"

"The house is too big for just two people, it would make a rather lovely hotel, but yes, the farm does pay for itself and contribute to the upkeep of the estate." She told him, "what have you done with him, by the way?"

"Spoke to the captain," Jack squeezed more water down her breasts to her stomach, "he is in his cabin and his meals will be taken to him, until we decide he can be allowed to wander the decks, again. Up to you, if you want him released from 'cabin arrest' that can be arranged."

"Oh, well," she thought for a moment, "perhaps leave him there a few days, until we leave Colombo, teach him a lesson?"

"As you wish, you are the victim, of his crime, after all," he leant forward and kissed the crown of her head.

"Hardly a crime, Jack," she laughed, "it was ten pounds that I can well afford, but it's the principle of the thing. He tried to steal from his own daughter, not a paternal gesture, really."

"Quite," he agreed, "well, don't know about you, but this water's not as warm as it was."

"No, but I'm quite comfortable," she smiled, "here."

"Come on, Miss Fisher," he teased, "I feel in the mood ..."

"Really, Inspector, now ...?"

"...for a pot of coffee and a chance to beat you at quoits," he laughed and wriggled out from under her. Stepping out of the bath he reached for a towel and wrapped it round his waist, grinning at her as she pouted, "come on, Phryne," he held out a large, soft bath towel, "out you get."

She was beautiful, lithe and graceful. Not a mark on her creamy skin except the one on her hip he had given her a few nights ago, fading now, but still there, and one or two others had joined it. He wrapped the towel round her and kissed her again, this time on the tip of her adorable nose.

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The game of quoits was declared a draw, with much laughter and hilarity. Phryne's mood had lifted considerably and she began to look forward to Colombo with Jack and the rest of the voyage.

Over a light lunch Jack teased Phryne about her aim in quoits.

"I do believe, Miss Fisher," he laughed, "that you have a better aim with that little gold pistol of yours."

"Ha ha," she reached over and speared the last piece of his quiche with her fork.

"I'll get you for that later," he took the last of his favourite cheese, ham and mustard pickle sandwiches, "mmm... very tasty, but," he licked his lips, his so very kissable lips, "Dorothy's pickle is still hard to beat."

"Is that what brings you to my house, time after time?" she pouted.

"It's one of the reasons," he teased, "there are others ..." he reached over and squeezed her hand.

For a few seconds they gazed into each other's eyes and the world disappeared. Phryne thought her heart would burst with whatever it was for this amazing man that seemed prepared to take her with the baggage she came with. Jack knew he had found his soul mate, and however unconventional their relationship was bound to be he was ready to embrace it, totally.


	4. Chapter 4

Henry sat sulking in his cabin. The ship had docked in Colombo and passengers, who so wished, were heading into the city centre to browse the shops and markets, stroll in the park, before re-boarding and continuing their journeys, Phryne and Jack amongst them. Jack had suggested that he use the confinement as time to think. Think about what? He was Henry, Lord Fisher of Richmond, he should not be sailing to England, second class, or be confined to said cabin for helping himself to his daughter's money. He still reasoned that her money was his money, first and foremost, put into trust for her from the estate. He knew, that when she had come of age; twenty-five; far too young in his mind, she had invested some of the trust to provide her with an income, enough to run her home, pay her staff and leave some for her leisure time. He had no idea how she had become so financially astute.

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Phryne slipped her hand through the crook of Jack's arm and smiled as they wandered through the streets of Colombo. As the week had moved on she had become more relaxed with him, she didn't dwell on the situation with her father but he knew it was in the back of her mind.

"So, Miss Fisher," he smiled at her, "what would you like to do?"

"I'm just happy to wander, Jack," she stopped to gaze in a window, "I believe there are some market stalls ..."

"... and I believe there are some jewellery stores, the gold market."

"I'm supposed to be looking for something to replace those awful fake Ming vases," she raised her eyebrows.

"Well, on that I don't think I'll be much good," he laughed, "I really have no idea what would go in a place I've never been to, and even if I have, been there, I mean ..."

"The hall is wide and high, so I'm looking for something tall, slim, not too fussy."

"Oh, right," clearly none the wiser.

She laughed and swung round in front of him, skipping backwards pulling him after her with his tie. He caught her wrist and pulled her back to him, into his arms and kissed her, there, in the street.

She pulled back, eventually, and looked at him in shock, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, kissing, in public!

They stopped at a street stall for Nasi Goreng, served simply on a tin plate, Phryne suggested it, rather than a restaurant.

"After all, the amount of locals there should tell us it is a good stall," she smiled. It was, they both wiped their dishes clean and tipped generously. The stallholder smiled and said something they didn't understand, but it sounded pleasant so they nodded and Phryne bestowed one of her wide smiles on him.

Having failed to find a replacement 'dust gatherer' as the Lady Detective termed the ornament, Jack suggested they wander into the gold quarter before heading back to the ship and bathing before dinner. Phryne opened her mouth to say they had plenty of time, then closed it again, she could find something to do, to while away the time, she was sure.

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Jack smiled to see her completely happy perusing the displays of necklaces, bangles and earrings. She tried bangles on each arm, delicate filigree designs, more solid bands of gold, decorated with gemstones or inscribed designs. She became absorbed in choosing something for Jane and for Dot. She found a pretty little gold star necklace, for Jane. The star was inlaid with little diamonds and it would be the first piece of proper jewellery the young girl had, Phryne thought it was just the right type of thing for her and Jack had to agree. So absorbed was she in browsing she didn't notice him purchase a necklace for her. At first he had just intended she be happy looking at the jewellery, he didn't plan on buying her anything, but this one had caught his eye. She paid for Jane's gift and slipped her hand through his arm again.

"Back to the ship, I think, Jack," she smiled, "perhaps I will find something for Dot in another port."

"It's not as if we are in a hurry to buy," he put his hand over hers, "as you say, somewhere else may have what you want."

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"I think I'll head along and see father," she passed her purchase to Jack, "why don't you collect the things you will need for dinner, and run the bath? I won't be long."

"Need your back scrubbing, Miss Fisher," he leant over and whispered, kissing her cheek as he did so.

"Not just my back," she breathed, kissing him back. As she moved away she turned and gave him the most alluring look she could. He blushed and cleared his throat.

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Henry was dozing when his daughter knocked on the door and entered. He sat up and tried to look contrite. She wasn't fooled.

"Father," she nodded and sat down opposite him.

"Phryne," he responded, "how was Colombo?"

"Lovely, busy," she smiled, "nice to have a wander off the ship."

"I suppose so, but I wouldn't know," he muttered, bitterly.

"You know fine well why," she huffed, "I can't trust you."

"Phryne, I'm your father," he pleaded.

"And I love you, as my father, but ..." she gave a deep sigh, "you aren't the best role model are you? I would like to explore unfamiliar cities, towns and countries with you, but ... you would end up in a nightclub somewhere risky and I would have to bail you out, again. Father, you have to understand, just because you have inherited a title, with an estate and some money, it isn't a bottomless pit, without strategic investment, careful planning, the money will run out and you will be back where you started - the back streets of Collingwood."

"Really," he sniffed, "I know what I'm doing."

"No you don't," she stood up, frustrated, "you have no idea. It's not just the estate, it's mother and me."

"Your mother understands, and you are independent, as you keep reminding me," he spread his hands out, "I haven't changed."

"No, but she is beginning to realise what she got herself into, when she fell for your charms - and the twilight waltz."

"I don't know what you mean," he stood up and took her by the arms, she shrugged him off and turned to the door.

"You will be in the Dower house, when we get home," she opened the door and left before he could take in what she had said.

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The steward locked the door, as he had been asked to do and watched the Baron's daughter stride down towards the first class area. He shook his head sorrowfully and silently wished her well.

As she headed back to her stateroom she wondered if her remark about the Dower house would hit home, make him realise what he was about to lose. She doubted it, she knew he would expect his charms to work on his wife, again. Phryne wasn't sure her mother was quite that malleable, now.

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Jack looked up from swirling the bath water to see Phryne watching him. He hadn't heard her come into the stateroom, those lovely carpets cushioned the tap of her heels. He smiled and she relaxed.

"I wasn't sure which ..." he waved his hand at the array of fragrances on the shelf, " ... would be my lady's pleasure this evening."

"Mmm ..." she mused, "well, perhaps just a hint of this one, wouldn't want you smelling like a tart's boudoir."

"And why would I smell like a tart's boudoir, as you so delicately put it," he teased.

"Well," she smiled coyly, "aren't you going to scrub my back?" She tipped some bath salts into the tub, which while not overtly masculine was not too feminine either.

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She shooed him out of the bathroom while she attended to her body's needs and family planning, just in case, then slipped into the bathtub. She called him through, delighted to see he had removed his clothing and was wearing a robe, which she removed quickly. She moved forward so he could slip in behind her then leant back and sighed. He huffed.

"How, Miss Fisher," he pushed her forward, "am I to scrub your back if it is lying on my front?"

She giggled and obligingly sat upright so he could take the sponge and start with lazy circles at the nape of her neck. It was so very relaxing and sexy at the same time. He worked across her shoulders and down her spine then trailed warm trickles of water down her back and over her shoulders. She hummed her appreciation and wriggled her bottom against his growing desire.

"Have a little patience, Phryne," he murmured into her right ear, "there's no rush." He dropped the sponge and soaped his hands. Smoothing them down over her breasts he felt her nipples harden and she groaned.

He continued his ministrations, stroking his lathered hands over her breasts and stomach then trickling water to clear away the soap.

She decided it was her turn and wriggled round to face him. He pouted, a sight that she would consign to memory, Jack Robinson pouting. She soaped her hands and started to move her hands over his chest, through the sparse hairs, feeling his raised nipples then smoothing down over his stomach. She squeezed a sponge-full of water over him and smirked as she felt him twitch against her.

He pushed his hand between her legs and lifted her up so she was astride his belly.

The water slopped over the side of the bath as Phryne ground down onto him arching her back and calling his name as she released and saw stars. She gulped, trying to catch her breath as he gave his final thrust and spilled into her.

"Jack," she gasped, her head flopping forward.

He grinned, the sight of Phryne undone, and the fact that it was he that did the undoing was one he thought he would never see. She was gloriously pink, glowing, and he loved her all the more for it.

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Jack tidied the bathroom while she went to dry herself and start to prepare for dinner. It wouldn't do, he said, to have the steward get an idea of what went on in the honourable lady's bathroom.

It didn't take him long to dress, not as long as Phryne. She had only got as far as her underwear and slip when he dropped his dinner jacket on the bed and slung his tie round his neck.

He helped her into her dress and turned her round to fasten the little buttons. She had chosen a red, full length gown with a low cowl back and fish tail skirt. It was simple but very elegant.

She had laid three necklaces on the dressing table, not quite sure which to wear.

"You choose, Jack," she smiled.

"Close your eyes," he placed a kiss at the nape of her neck which made her shiver and reached into his trouser pocket. "There," he turned her to face the mirror.

"Oh, Jack," she fingered the fine gold necklace, random arcs of gold, some inlaid with little diamonds, with a small gold flower, also inlaid, to one side, it sat perfectly over her collar bone and down to the top of her breasts, covered with the red of her dress. "It's beautiful, thank you," she breathed, tears in her eyes. No man had ever bought her something so delicately designed, in fact, she had to admit, to herself, that she hadn't been bought jewellery by any of her lovers. Not even Lin.

She saw him smile, in the mirror, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Come on, dinner," he offered her his arm, "and you can tell me how your father was."

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Over dinner she told him how her father was sulking and that she had told him he was headed for the Dower house when he got home.

"Do you think he understands what that means?"

"I think he thinks he will be able to charm mother," she sipped her wine, "like he has done in the past."

"And ...?"

"I don't think it will happen this time," she sighed sadly, "she has been frustrated by him many times, but never has she sought advice on a legal separation."

"It's not an easy step to take, Phryne," he reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, "but I understand why it is a step she feels she has to take."

"Me to," she sat upright, "but, after all they have been through, Janey, grinding poverty, it's a shame it has come to this."

"Quite," he returned to his plate and finished his roast lamb.

"Perhaps," she mused, "we could allow him out of his cabin while we are at sea, for an afternoon?"

"I think that's up to the Captain," he nodded his thanks to the waiter, "though maybe he could be invited to join us for tea, on deck?"

"S'pose so," she hummed.

Jack could see her father would be a thorn in her side for the whole voyage, and really, he didn't blame her.

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The spent the next few days swimming in the pool, playing quoits, that Phryne was getting better at, and people watching. There were families, couples, mothers and daughters, friends, singles - every combination they could think of. Children played nearby and Phryne was still not convinced about parenthood, not that she was thinking of embarking on that particular path herself. She was sure she would make a rotten mother, though Jack would make an excellent father, of that she was certain.

Henry was allowed out, one afternoon, to have tea on the deck with them. He wasn't exactly gracious about it until, when Phryne went to powder her nose, Jack had a stern word with him.

"You can spend the entire voyage in your cabin, Lord Fisher," he frowned, "or you can occasionally have tea with us, sit out on the deck and maybe, just maybe, lunch. But, only if you can show a little gratitude. At least we are not taking you back in handcuffs and stowed in the brig."

"Jack, I ..." he stuttered.

"No, Lord Fisher," Jack held up his hand, "think about it. You are only going back to England because the Met have asked for you to answer questions about theft and fraud. Phryne told you you would be in the Dower house when you got back, you do realise what she means, don't you?"

Phryne chose that moment to reappear so Henry didn't reply, and anyway, he still thought he could win his wife round with his usual charm.

"I suppose you will be going ashore at the next stop," he turned to her, "Bombay, isn't it?"

"I think so," Phryne sipped her tea, "I've never been, it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity."

"You will be careful, won't you, Phryne?" he looked into her eyes, "I don't know how safe it is for a white woman ..."

"I shall take good care of her, Lord Fisher," Jack stopped him, "though I think Bombay may need protecting from Miss Fisher."

Phryne laughed and reached over to squeeze Jack's hand, "my knight in shining armour, eh, Jack?"

He nodded and smiled back.

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They wandered arm in arm through the busy streets of Bombay. It was a short stop over so not too many of the passengers had decided to take the trip. Phryne fingered some silk and wondered if Dot could make something with it. It was almost iridescent, reds, yellows, gold.

"That's lovely," he reached over to touch it, "but, if I may, I think that one, with the blue-green look to it would really suit you." He would not normally offer a suggestion for her wardrobe, she always looked lovely, even in her black beret that she habitually wore to go on night-time sorties, but he did like the blue. He took it and draped it over her shoulder, "beautiful," he breathed.

"How about I buy both?" she smiled up at him, "they are lovely and I'm not sure how I will have them styled."

"Well, I suppose that gives you two options," he agreed.

"And I think I'll have the purple too, I just love the way they shimmer," she paid the man and accepted his blessing with a lovely smile.

It was hot, dry and dusty and they were just looking to see if they could get a cup of tea somewhere when there was a disturbance just a little further down the street.

A young woman was pulling away from a man who was holding her wrist.

"Let me go!" she screamed, "I'm not going with you!"

A crowd was gathering round them and another young man was trying to pull them apart.

Phryne grabbed Jack's hand and they started to run towards them, "I recognise them from the ship," she gasped, "at least the girl and the one on the right."

"Me too," he agreed, "they are on the same deck as your father."

"Are you alright," Phryne touched the woman's shoulder, "you're on the same ship as us, aren't you?"

"Er, yes," she squirmed against the hold on her wrist, "for god's sake John, let go," she pulled free and rubbed the wrist, now sore from his grip.

"Who're you?" the man scowled.

"The Honourable Phryne Fisher," she held out her hand, "this is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson."

The young woman was now being held in an embrace by the other man, who introduced himself as Godfrey Milton, then the woman in his arms as Esme, his fiancée.

"So ..." Jack looked from them to the other man, John, "you are?"

"John Swithin, her brother," he growled.

"Why are you trying to drag her away, Mr Swithin?" Jack asked.

"Father sent me, to intercept her, before she does something foolish," he snapped, and reached for Esme again.

"By 'foolish'," Phryne pouted, "I assume marry this young man, who seems perfectly harmless to me ..." she turned to Milton, "unless you are a mad axe-man on the run." she added.

"Absolutely not," he huffed, then smiled, seeing the tease in Phryne's eyes, "I'm a land agent for a Scottish estate," he started to relax.

"So ..." Jack scratched his head, "what are you doing on a ship sailing from Australia to England?"

"The Estate had land in Queensland, run by the Laird's brother, but he died so I was dispatched to see to the sale of the land and stock, and pay off the workers."

"I met Godfrey in town, I dropped my parcels; some books;" Esme continued the story, "and I suppose we hit it off. My position was about to come to an end, a governess, so instead of looking for another position ..."

"Look, I think we should continue this discussion on the ship," Phryne picked up Jack's wrist and checked his watch, "or we'll miss it and then ..."

"Good idea, Miss Fisher," Jack nodded, "Swithin, what are your travel plans?"

"I have a one way ticket to get her home from here," he grunted, "on the ship."

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Phryne suggested they have the discussion in her stateroom over tea. Swithin grumbled that tea was not what he was after, all he had to do was take his sister home to their father.

"She hasn't known him long ..."

"Six months, John," Esme interrupted, "long enough, as far as I'm concerned." She reached over for Godfrey's hand.

"If she goes back with you, John," Phryne poured whisky for her and Jack, and offered it to the two young men, who declined, "what then? What has her father got in mind for her?"

"Well, mother died, so he needs someone to run the house," John started, Phryne held up her hand.

"So he wants a free housekeeper," she sniffed and took a swallow of her drink, "charming."

"What has he got against Mr Milton?" Jack asked, "I mean a land agent, quite a good position I believe," Milton nodded, "he will be able to provide for her, I'm sure."

"I already have a small cottage on the estate," Milton nodded, "just big enough, until we start a family."

"Father has never met Godfrey," Esme murmured, "he has no right to judge, _and_ I'm old enough to marry without his permission."

"Well," Jack stood up and went to the window to watch the port start to slip away, "we are on our way now, so I suggest we continue our journeys as planned."

"You," Swithin pointed at Esme, "are coming home with me."

"You can't make me," she stood up and faced him, fists balled by her sides.

"If, as you say," Jack stood between them, "you are of age, Miss Swithin, then, no, he can't."

Swithin stormed out leaving his sister right where he didn't want her, in the arms of her fiancé.

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Phryne sighed and took the last swallow of her whisky. "You know, Jack," she got up and moved to sit next to him on the couch, "I wonder if there isn't more to this than meets the eye."

"I was wondering the same," he admitted, "surely, if she is of age, her father must know he holds no right over her, and I have to admit, without sounding ungallant, she does look as if she might be around twenty four or five."

"No, I think you have it about right there," she agreed, "so, what's this about 'before she does something foolish'?"

"Depends what you define as foolish," he muttered, thinking back to when he had seen them outside a cabin near Henry. "I think they may already have."

"My department, dearest," she settled into his side, "perhaps?"

"I think so," he smiled, "but, no rush, I don't think we have a leg to stand on in that area, do you?"

"Depends what you define as foolish," she repeated his thought.

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They thought little more about the young couple over the next few days, but if they saw them taking a stroll they spoke to them. Phryne liked that they weren't, as she put it, soppily in love, they reminded her of Hugh and Dot, in many ways.

"Wonder how they're doing," she mused one evening, when she had rashly undressed Jack and a button had flown off his shirt, before they made rather frantic, urgent love.

"Frankly, my dear," he grinned, rolling over in the bed and pulling her naked body close, "I really don't care, not right at this moment, anyway."

She was just about to roll on top of him when there was a frenetic pounding on the door.

"Miss Fisher, Miss Fisher!" Esme Swithin called through the wood, "please, I need your help!"

"Be right there," she called back and reached over for her robe, "hold that thought," she grinned at Jack.

"He rolled out of bed and pulled his shorts and trousers on, pointless he knew, Miss Swithin would know exactly what went on in that stateroom. Still, a little more respectable than a robe. He managed to get his shirt on and a few buttons fastened by the time Phryne had opened the door, enough to speak to the woman.

"Miss Swithin, what on earth is the matter," she looked round and seeing Jack was half way decent, pulled her inside.

"It's John," she clutched her robe to her, "he came to the cabin, he's attacked Godfrey ... says he's ruined me."

"Right," Phryne hid her smile, "something foolish, I think," she muttered. "I'm sure you're not ruined Esme, you are going to marry the man, aren't you."

"Of course," Esme realised what she had done, let someone, a police officer and a society lady, know she was not entirely 'virtuous' as Dot would say. "We couldn't afford two cabins, and Godfrey was going to sleep on the couch, but ..."

"...one thing led to another," Phryne patted her arm, "don't worry. I have no room to talk." She turned to her lover, "come on, Jack, let's go and sort this out."

They followed her, down to the same corridor her father was berthed on. A steward was standing holding the arms of John Swithin, who struggled hard to get free.

"I'm going to kill you!" he shouted into the cabin, "you've defiled her!"

Phryne looked into the cabin where Godfrey was sitting on the floor, his lip and nose bleeding and his knuckles grazed and scuffed. Esme pushed passed her and went down on her knees.

"Oh Godfrey, I'm sorry," she hiccupped.

"'s'not you who should be sorry, love," he mumbled from behind his bruised face, "it's him. He actually accused me of of well you know."

Esme stood up, red faced with fury, and went to stand in front of her brother.

"You ... you! Do you really think ...?" she shouted at him, "I don't know what you and father are up to, but I've a jolly good mind to go and live with him, in sin!" she pulled back her arm and thumped him, good and hard. Jack was sure she broke his nose. She shook her hand, it hurt. Phryne hid a smile behind her hand and turned to the steward.

"I suggest you lock this one in his cabin, perhaps the ship's doctor could give him the once over, I'll do this one," she nodded into the cabin.

"As you wish, Miss," the steward inclined his head, politely, and dragged John Swithin down the corridor.

Jack had helped Milton onto the bed and poured a bowl of cool water. Esme passed down a small First Aid kit, Jack raised his eyebrows.

"I am a governess, or was," she smiled, "looking after small boys, and now it would seem land agents, it's a necessary item to carry around with me."

"Jack, could you see if we can get some ice for Esme's hand, please?" Phryne started to clean up Milton's face, "and maybe a stiff drink."

He headed off to do his lady's bidding, she had it all under control, but, Swithin, what was going on? If Esme was working, as a governess, then they weren't wealthy, John's suit was, at best, second hand ... curious.

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Godfrey was sporting a band aid over his right eye and the cuts around his mouth were clean, when Jack returned, with a bottle of whisky, four tumblers, stacked, and a cloth containing ice. The ice soothed Esme's hand and the whisky soothed their tempers.

"Do you have any idea why John is so hell bent on getting you back to your father?" Phryne asked.

"None," Esme shook her head.

"No inheritance he can only get his hands on if you are under his control?" she wondered.

"I've never been under father's control," Esme huffed, "he didn't want me to go out the Australia, but the job was offered, the passage was paid, and the chance to travel ... well, I couldn't pass it up."

"Of course," both Phryne and Jack agreed, "I think, as I'm sure you do, that there is more to this than meets the eye, Esme," Phryne continued.

"So do I," she nodded, "so, how do we get married, quickly?"

"Not in any trouble are you?" Phryne mused.

"Ah, that, well, only time will tell, Miss Fisher," she blushed.

Milton coughed, "er, Esme," he reached into his pocket, "we are halfway there, sweetheart. I do at least have a licence."

"Excellent," Phryne cried, "now all we need, is a man of the cloth or a magistrate or ..."

"We get the idea, Phryne," Jack touched her arm, "but," he looked at the two other lovers, "first, do you mind if I do a little checking? It won't be easy, I'll have to do it by telegram."

"I suppose not," Esme mused, "what are you looking for?"

"A reason for your father to stop you marrying," Jack stood up and extended his hand to his partner in mystery solving, "I don't actually think John knows."

"Alright," she seemed cheered by this, "his name is Henry Swithin," Phryne rolled her eyes, "what's the matter?" Esme looked at her with surprise.

"Nothing," she waved it away, "do go on."

"He lives in Bristol," Esme continued, "he works on the docks in the shipping offices."

"That should be enough," Jack nodded, "I'll get started in the morning. Come on Phryne," he turned to his love, "nothing more we can do here."

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"Another Henry," Jack laughed as they slipped back into bed, "are they all the same?"

"God, I hope not," she laughed back, "do you think you'll be able to find anything out?"

"Well, I don't know," he admitted, "I think I'll start by contacting the Bristol force, see if they can find Henry Swithin."

"Mmm..." she cuddled close, "I think I'll look for a member of the clergy, or a magistrate or someone that can officiate at a wedding."

"What do you think of them, Esme and Milton?" he put his arms round her and kissed the top of her head.

"I think they are perfectly good people," she yawned, "just want to get married, have a family and live their lives, together."

"Me too," he yawned and closed his eyes, wishing people could have their problems in the light of day and not disturb his sleep.

She smiled and joined him in slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

Henry Swithin chivvied the young girl out of his house. Since his wife died he had employed her to do a little bit of dusting and laundry for him. Employed was perhaps a strong word, she came in he gave her a few pennies for what she did, well below what she was earning at other houses, and scooted out as fast as she could. She didn't like him, but her mother needed the money. Still, it was only until his daughter came home, she comforted herself with that thought.

His wife had kept the house spotless, his clothes repaired, cleaned and pressed and cooked basic, but tasty, meals. She had raised their children, the boy, John, was lazy, but managed to hold down a very junior post at the docks, the girl, Esme was bright, had wanted to see the world so when she had started teaching, privately, and heard about the post in Australia she had applied for it and been successful. It was only when everything was in place that she had told her parents, stuck out her chin, bade her mother a fond farewell and stepped on to the gangplank of the ship. Mrs Swithin had been glad for her. She didn't want her daughter to settled for a life of drudgery, she knew there was a better life somewhere for her. She had lived for the letters addressed to her only, how the family were lovely, the boys a delight and then that she had met someone who made her happy. But her life with Henry had taken its toll on her health and she died before seeing Esme married and settled. Henry had only found the letters after she died. At first he didn't much care then he received a letter, or rather he opened one addressed to his wife, from a solicitor. Apparently, a distant relative had died and left her a considerable sum of money. Of course, this was a problem, she was dead. Henry had to see the solicitor, and hoped, as her surviving spouse, he could claim the money for himself.

"I'm sorry, Mr Swithin," the solicitor hummed sadly, "but Miss Carter stipulated that the next in line to inherit would be any female child of your wife's."

"Oh, we have a daughter," his brain was turning over so fast he was almost dizzy. "She's out of the country."

"Well, if you can let me have her address I shall write to her and inform her of her good fortune," the solicitor took up his pen and prepared to write the address.

"She is coming back," Henry Swithin grasped at straws, if he could get her back, before she married, then he hoped he would have control of the money. At least it wouldn't go to some land agent she had apparently taken up with. Anyway, he needed a housekeeper, now, and why should he pay someone to do what she could do for him, for free.

That was when he hatched to plan to send John to fetch her back, not telling him why. He'd had to pawn much of the jewellery that his wife had, not that it was worth much, some bits and pieces around the home, in order to pay John's travel costs, the cheapest he could get, to intercept Esme.

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On the ship Jack had started sending telegrams. It wasn't easy to get the story across in a few words but he hoped he had made himself understood. First to find Henry Swithin, then see if there was any particular reason he wanted his daughter home, unmarried.

They were sitting on deck, drinking tea and chatting with another couple who were using the trip as a honeymoon. Phryne was beginning to think they were being surrounded by newly married and affianced couples on purpose, when a steward brought a telegram for the Inspector.

"FOUND SWITHIN STOP WILL INTERVIEW AT HOME TODAY STOP"

"Will there be a reply, sir," the steward asked, pocketing his tip.

"Later, perhaps, thank you," Jack nodded.

"News, Jack?" Phryne watched him stow the telegram in his pocket.

"Yes, they've found Esme's father and are going to interview him today, at home."

"Good." She thought for a moment, "it would be easier if you could phone, wouldn't it?"

"So much," he agreed, "it's too long a call to make from the ship, I was wondering if I could use a phone at the embassy, on our next stop."

"That's a good idea," she nodded, "you could talk in relative comfort. Why don't you radio ahead?"

"I will, then I can send another telegram to the Bristol force and tell them to expect my call."

"I must admit, I'm finding them remarkably helpful," she mused, "after all, you are out of your jurisdiction ..."

"Ah, yes, well," he blushed, "I took the opportunity to speak to the captain, and, as it happened on his ship, the fracas, he has asked them to co-operate."

"Now, why didn't I think of that?" she grinned.

"I might have distracted you," he smirked.

She turned to the young couple and apologised for ignoring them, telling them a short version of the mystery.

"Goodness," the young bride gasped, "well, if you're looking for a vicar," she turned and indicated her husband.

"Really?" Phryne's eyebrows shot up, "would you? When we have sorted out the reason for her father wanting her home, un-married."

"I suppose I could," he pressed his lips together, "there is a small chapel on board, and they have a licence, you say."

"They do," she nodded.

They passed on their cabin number and agreed that Phryne would see them if his services were needed.

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The Bristol force chose to question Henry Swithin about his son's behaviour on board the ship, at home. As he had said his father had sent him to bring his sister home, they thought, as did Jack, that it was a reasonable line of enquiry.

"Just looking to see he wasn't stringing them along, sir," the young sergeant sat with his notebook open.

"I just asked him to escort her back, safely," Henry had always been good at thinking on his feet, "I didn't want him to get into any trouble. I was worried, a young girl, travelling alone, foreigners, well they don't treat their women like we do, do they?" he blustered.

"I see, sir," the sergeant noted all this down, "and her travelling companion?"

"A friend, I believe, but," he shifted in his chair, "not someone I know, so ..."

"Quite," the sergeant stood up and approached the fireplace, where he had noticed a letter, addressed to Miss Swithin, propped up against a large mirror. The envelope was typewritten, so official mail, not a personal letter, he thought. Now who ..? He reached over to adjust the angle of a candlestick and carelessly knocked the letter flat. Henry didn't notice him glance long enough to catch sight of the name.

"Like my gran's," the sergeant said, nodding to the ornament, "always remind me of her."

"I see," Henry grunted.

"Right, well," he closed his notebook and stowed it in his pocket, "must be off, telegram the ship. Thank you for your help and I hope Miss Swithin gets home safely."

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Back at the station he informed his Inspector of his findings.

"Get off to see the solicitor, Jones," he was told, "find out what was in that letter."

"Sir, first thing," he nodded, "closed now."

"Good man," he nodded, this was more interesting than the usual thefts and odd murder he got to investigate, "Robinson is telephoning tomorrow afternoon, from the British embassy in Cairo."

"He can do that?" Jones' eyes opened wide.

"Apparently," the Inspector grinned.

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Phryne left Jack at the embassy and took Esme and Godfrey into the market in Cairo. Godfrey's bruises had just about disappeared and Esme was relieved to be away from the ship and her brother.

"I wish he was still held in his cabin," she had said to Miss Fisher, "I'd feel a lot safer then."

"If he starts anything he'll end up there again," Phryne had assured her, "and he's not allowed off ship until we dock in London."

The market was bustling, there were plenty of stalls to browse, vendors to fend off, which Phryne did with a disarming smile, most of the time, and the young couple were grateful for her presence.

"Is there anything you want to look for?" Phryne asked, "to take back with you."

"Well," Godfrey hummed, "we need rings, if we're to get married, and, I have a fancy for something a bit different."

"Oh," Phryne gasped, while she appreciated interesting and unusual jewellery she hadn't considered that anything other than a plain gold band was used for a wedding ring, "well, I suppose it would be a talking point."

"I thought," Esme whispered, "you and the Inspector ..."

"It's complicated," Phryne sighed, though she was beginning to think it was her that made it so.

"Oh, right," Esme hummed, "well, you look happy, right, together," she blushed, thinking she had said more than she should.

Phryne didn't make any further comment, because she felt right, when she was with Jack, and she didn't quite know what to make of it ... well she did, but it frightened her, though she wasn't going to admit it.

Godfrey had wandered just far enough away to browse without his fiancée watching, and seen a ring he thought just right. It was a gold filigree ring with an ankh set in the centre. He thought this appropriate as it was the symbol of good luck, and they could do with some. Of course, he would have to see if it fit.

Esme caught his arm, "hey!" she gasped, "don't wander off."

He laughed, "as if I would," he held up the ring, "what do you think, for your wedding ring?"

"Oh, Godfrey," she gasped, "it's lovely."

"The ankh is a symbol of good luck," Phryne agreed.

"I know," he replied, "I studied Egyptology at university."

"But what about you, Godfrey?" Esme's eyes shone, "surely you should have a ring, too?"

"You chose," he swept his hand over the selection on the stall, "which would you have me wear?"

"Well," she studied the rings on display, "I think something that has meaning, but, you know better than me."

"Hm ..." he mused, "the scarab is a symbol of power, so ..."

"Perhaps something a little less ...," she laughed.

"Ok, how about ... the eye of Horus, symbol of protection," he held up a ring, the symbol a cut out shape and either side scarabs engraved into the gold.

"Now that is lovely," she smiled, "strength and protection, just what a husband should show." She tiptoed up and kissed him, lightly on his lips.

Phryne turned away and bit her lip, two of the qualities Jack possessed, in spades, though she would deny, to her dying day, she needed protecting!

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They had agreed to meet Jack at the embassy, before heading back to the ship and a discussion on what the Bristol force had found. He smiled when he saw them enter the foyer, a bit hot and dusty. As if by magic a tray of cold hibsicus tea appeared with four glasses and they sat down to hear what Jack had found out.

"Briefly," he sat forward in his chair, "you have inherited a considerable sum of money from an Aunt, a Miss Carter."

"Goodness," she breathed, "Aunt Carter was one tough old bird."

Phryne raised her eyebrows at this description, it sounded a bit like dear old Aunt Prudence.

"Sorry, not very respectful," Esme giggled, "but, she was. She hated my father, and men in general. A chap had to work very hard to win her round."

"Sounds like someone I could get on with," Phryne smiled gently.

Jack rolled his eyes, "your father has already been to the solicitor to claim the money as your mother's surviving spouse."

"Ah, I see," Esme nodded and pursed her lips, "so, he's hoping that, if he can get me back, unmarried, then he can control me and the money. Fat chance," she scoffed.

"Shall we go back to the ship and talk further?" Jack suggested, he had more information that the resourceful Sergeant Jones had gleaned from the solicitor that would be of interest to Esme, and Godfrey.

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"Jack," Phryne pulled him back from the young couple, "is it important that we talk now, I really could do with a bath? Perhaps they could join us for dinner?"

"I think that would be a lovely idea," he agreed, "she knows why her father insists she get home before she marries, and it would be nice, to discuss it in civilised surroundings."

"Quite," she smiled and trotted ahead to put the invitation to them.

"Oh, that's very kind of you," Esme smiled and turned to her fiancé, "isn't it, darling?"

"It is, and we thank you for the invitation," he nodded and patted her hand.

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After a long soak, alone, Phryne felt rejuvenated. Cairo had been tiring, the heat particularly strong that day, stifling. She left the bathroom wearing just a towel and sat down on the bed.

"Gosh," she exhaled, "that was a hard day."

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow and handed her a tall glass of ice cold lemonade. "I thought shopping was your forte."

"Cheek," she took the glass and almost drained it in one go, "it was a bit claustrophobic, so many people, and Esme and Godfrey were looking at wedding rings, not really my line." She held the glass out for a refill.

He poured her drink and looked at her. Crowds didn't usually bother her, so, perhaps it was the rings, he'd find out eventually, one day. There were so many things he didn't know about her, her fears, phobias (apart from spiders), worries, regrets. There again, she didn't know his regrets, not providing Rosie with the children she so wanted, that fireworks; really big ones; made him jump or that Lin Chung may one day take her away from him - and he didn't think he could bear that.

"My turn for the bath, I think, Miss Fisher," he raised his glass and downed the remaining liquid.

"Knock yourself out, Inspector," she grinned, raising her own glass.

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Jack gently nudged Phryne's foot and put his finger under her chin.

"Not very elegant, Phryne," he teased as her jaw had dropped. Godfrey Milton wore full dress tartan, and he had, in her mind, rather splendid calves. Jack stood up and pulled out a seat for Esme, who was dressed in a simple pale grey dinner dress, deep 'v' neck with scalloped embroidery in a darker grey, round the neckline and down the centre front, and round the dropped waist. Her hair, not unlike Dot's for style and colour, was held with a pearl clip, she looked lovely. Phryne was glad she had decided against one of her more extravagant evening dresses and she too wore a short dinner dress, in burgundy velvet. Sleeveless, slash neck and an over dress in jet embroidered silk net, she contrasted well with their guest.

"This is very kind of you," Esme smiled as she sat to the table, "thank you for inviting us."

"We thought, or rather Phryne did," Jack nodded to his partner, "that it would be nice to talk about what we have been told, by the Bristol force."

"I had no idea she would leave us anything," Esme took a sip of the wine the waiter poured, "she, as I told you, hated father, but was close enough to mother to call occasionally. Mother said she was checking up on her, that she was alright. She was never particularly demonstrative, or affectionate towards me, but she did once tell me that I was to do what I wanted and not be pushed into marriage by father, to only marry if I was sure that the man I chose was good and kind, and would not try to keep me 'in my place'."

"I really like the sound of her," Phryne laughed.

"I think you would have got on famously, Miss Fisher," Esme agreed, "I think you know your own mind."

"Oh she does that," Jack muttered to Godfrey, who grinned his understanding.

Phryne cleared her throat and looked at Jack, a look that said she would have her revenge.

"Right, well," Jack waited until the waiter had taken their order and proceeded to tell what he had gleaned from his phone call. "Apparently your father can't get his hands on the inheritance and, it would seem that the sergeant who went to see the solicitor had a feeling he should ask one extra question - that of what happens if you marry."

"Ah, I see," Esme nodded, taking a moment to savour her shrimp cocktail, "given her views on men ..."

"It would seem she had more faith in you than you think, Miss Swithin," Jack smiled, "if you marry, according to the solicitor, you will still inherit. Your husband, I'm afraid, Mr Milton, does not have any right to the money, though how she got that through the legal minefield I don't know, but she stipulated the money is yours, and yours alone."

"The money is Esme's," Milton said, firmly, "when I asked her to marry me, there was no inheritance, she can do what she likes with it, buy a racehorse if she so fancies." He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

"I don't think I'll buy a racehorse," she laughed, "perhaps put some aside for a rainy day ..."

"... it does that quite a bit in Scotland," he grinned back.

"Silly, we shall see, when I know how much it is."

"I could put you in touch with some financial advisors," Phryne offered, "who helped me invest my trust fund."

"It would be nice to have some recommendations," Esme agreed, "there are so many sharks out there. My last employer's sister fell prey to such men."

"I am sorry," Phryne sighed.

"They were dealt with, by the law," Esme sighed, "but she didn't get her money back."

They turned the conversation to the estate Milton was land agent for, and what kind of home he had there.

"At the moment it's a small cottage," he smiled, "Esme says we don't need much to start with, and I suppose we can sort anything else out as we need to. There are other estate properties for the staff and workers, some larger."

"I was wondering if there would be somewhere I could set up a school, for the children," Esme added, "Godfrey tells me there is a school but it is quite a way away, and a long journey for the children each day."

"That sounds like a good idea," Jack smiled, "if the laird?" he looked to Milton for confirmation, "laird is agreeable."

"He allows the children to attend the local school, but that means he has to release someone to transport them each day, this would free up that person."

As they left the dining room Esme turned to Phryne and Jack to thank them for the invitation to dinner,

"and for all you have done for us. I don't think I shall tell John why he has been sent to escort me," she sighed, "he is as bad as father, and I know he is only just hanging on to his job. Now all we have to do is get married."

"Of course," Phryne smiled, "and on that I too have made progress. There is a young vicar on board, on his honeymoon, he has agreed to perform the ceremony, if you want, in the chapel."

"Oh, that is wonderful!" Esme's eyes widened, "we must talk to him."

"Not now, Esme," Milton put his hand round her waist, "perhaps tomorrow, if Miss Fisher can let us know where we can find him."

"And will you be there?" Esme stopped and looked intensely at Phryne, "please, as our witnesses and our guests?"

Jack watched her turn this request over. Surely she would attend a wedding, she had attended her cousin's, said it was all rather saccharine for her tastes, the flowing white dress ...

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"Isabella has no right to wear white," she had mused, with a cheeky grin, "and Aunt P knew it, you could tell from the look on her face. Still it's done now, though I don't think they'll be happy."

Jack wondered if it was her general opposition to marriage that made her feel that way, or Guy's behaviour and total lack of common sense.

"No, I just don't see myself getting married, I've only seen one truly happy marriage and that was Aunt P and Uncle Edward. She adored him, for all his faults, and he allowed her to be the strong woman she always was, especially when everybody told her to put Arthur in a home and forget about him," she had explained and he had smiled, poured her another whisky and, for once, beaten her at draughts.

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"It's very kind of you to ask," she hummed, "are you sure?"

"If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't know anything about what was going on," Esme touched her arm, "we are so grateful to you. I dread to think what would have happened when we docked, if we didn't know father's plan. Please, we would deem it an honour to have you there."

"Jack?" Phryne turned to him.

"I will be happy to be a witness," he smiled at the young couple.

"We'll be there," Phryne tucked her hand in the crook of Jack's arm, "I shall introduce you to the vicar tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Miss Fisher, Inspector," Milton nodded, "and thank you, again, for dinner."

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"Are you alright, Phryne?" Jack asked, "you were quiet, at dinner."

"Hm?" she had her back to him, "yes, fine, a bit tired, that's all."

That excuse didn't wash with him. Phryne could dance the night away, and then go and investigate a murder without missing a step or complaining she was 'tired'.

He took a tentative step towards her, wondering if he should perhaps sleep in his own cabin that night. Placing his hands lightly on her shoulders and kissing the top of her head, equally and softly, he murmured in her ear.

"It's ok, you know," she didn't move, "you can talk to me, or not, it's your choice." He waited for her to speak, when she didn't, "shall I leave you, for tonight?"

She sighed, not sure if she wanted to sleep alone. She had become rather used to his presence, in the bed, whether they made love or not, it was just nice, to wake up next to him with his arms round her. Regular as clockwork, she decided it was just her time of the month approaching that made her moody ...

"We can just cuddle," he smiled into her hair, "no pressure."

"I'm sorry, Jack," she sighed, still not turning to him, "it's just ..."

"I've been married, remember," he wrapped his arms round her and let her fall against him, "I think I recognise the signs."

"Thank you," this time she did turn round, "it's not a conversation I have had with any other lover, I just tend to stay away, from such situations, during ..."

"Of course," he understood, as he said, he had been married, "Rosie usually pushed me away at that time."

"I get moody, grumpy," she gave a little smile, "can be thoroughly unpleasant, sometimes."

"I won't take it personally," he bent and kissed her lightly on the lips.

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Jack watched her sleep, curled up against his side. Without her makeup she looked paler than usual though she always looked a little pale, the contrast of her black hair against the creamy white of her skin, but tonight she looked much paler. He sighed softly, Rosie had times like this, not just grumpy, but in some discomfort, perhaps Phryne was having one of those times. She turned over and curled up, a little groan emanated from her lips and her arms went across her stomach. He slipped out of the bed and went to call for a steward.

"Ah, Higgins," he whispered at the door, "could you find a hot water bottle, d'ye think?"

"Of course , sir," Higgins nodded, "is something wrong?"

"Nothing to worry about, I just think Miss Fisher might be a little more comfortable with one." Jack smiled and tipped him.

"Right away," Higgins touched his peak and trotted off to do the Inspector's bidding, not wanting to ask any more about an obvious female need. He returned very quickly bearing the hot water bottle, filled and encased in a velvet cover emblazoned with the cruise ship's emblem.

"Thank you," Jack smiled, "that's most kind."

"I hope she feels better soon."

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Jack slipped silently back into bed and gently, but firmly moved her arms and lay the hot water bottle on her stomach and let her arms drop back onto it He wrapped his arms round her and kissed her shoulder as she relaxed a little.

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She woke early, the hot water bottle was still warm as were Jack's arms, still around her. She felt a little better than the previous evening but she would have to leave the comfort and head to the bathroom.

She stumbled out to find Jack had ordered tea and a fresh hot water bottle. He opened his arms to her and pulled her back into the bed and to his side.

"Thank you," she smiled slightly, "how did you know?"

"Rosie," he held out a cup of tea to her, "I just went with that, you were obviously uncomfortable."

"It's not usually this bad," she sighed and sipped the tea, "usually I can cope with an aspirin and not doing too much. Mac says it comes with the territory and there is nothing except a hysterectomy that can cure it ... and I'm not ready for that," she added when his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"A bit drastic," he agreed, "don't worry, you stay in bed, if you want to. I'll make sure you have a steady supply of hot water bottles and whatever else you need."

"What about Esme and Godrey, the vicar?" she handed the cup back and slid a little further down into the comforting warmth of the bed.

"I can go and see him, arrange a meeting," he put his arm round her, he could see she hated being incapable, "try and get it sorted for later in the week."

"Thank you," she smiled, "do you think you could persuade the ship's medic to let me have some aspirin, as well?"

"I'm sure I can," he settled her down in the bed with the hot water bottle, kissed her, put the tray out of the way and went to the bathroom, to ready himself for the day.

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Esme was worried about Phryne, she didn't seem the type to be ill.

"Do you think she'd like some female company?" she asked.

"You could offer," he smiled, "but she might bite your head off," he warned her, with a knowing nod.

"I see," she caught on immediately, "well, like you say, I can offer."

"Shall we see the vicar first," Godfrey suggested, "then perhaps the Inspector can take you to see Miss Fisher?"

"That sounds like a good idea," she agreed.

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The young vicar, Reverend Price, was delighted to meet the couple and they discussed what they wanted and what they could have, over tea with the captain. They decided that the following week would give Miss Fisher time recover from her upset, to be the second witness.

"We are stopping in Gibraltar, so we can get a registrar there," the captain told them, "though I can perform that duty if necessary."

"That sounds wonderful," Esme clapped her hands together in joy, "it will be so nice, just a small intimate affair, nobody to impress but ourselves."

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Godfrey left Jack and Esme outside Phryne's stateroom saying he was heading to the reading room.

"I hope the medic has been to see her," he opened the door, "I asked him to bring some aspirin for her."

"Hello, Jack," a familiar and altogether brighter voice greeted him, "and Esme."

Phryne was reclining on the chaise longue, fresh pyjamas and robe and a blanket over her legs and up to her waist, hiding the hot water bottle. She had brushed her hair and applied a little makeup to take away the dreadful pallor from earlier.

"Hello, love," we was at her side in three strides, while Esme hung back, "feeling better?"

"Not completely, but better than I was this morning," she shifted so he could sit next to her.

"Have you had anything to eat?" he searched her face for the answer but she would not meet his gaze. "I see," he leant forward and kissed her forehead, "how about I order some tea and biscuits, plain ones?"

"I'm sorry, Jack," she knew she had been rumbled, Jack could read her like a book, she was rapidly coming to see, "I just couldn't face anything, but, yes, tea and biscuits sounds acceptable."

"I'll come back another time," Esme turned to leave.

"No," Phryne reached over for her, "please stay. I'm sure Jack would prefer not to be in the company of a weak and feeble woman."

"You are _not_ , I repeat, _not_ , weak and feeble," he glared at her, "everybody has their Achilles heel, and it would seem, yours has decided to rear its ugly head. I shall go and see how your father is doing and John," he turned to address Esme, "but I shan't tell John you are getting married, or the reason your father sent him out to bring you home."

Phryne almost burst into tears at this, his understanding, or as much as a man could understand. She bit her lip and looked down so he wouldn't see. He chose not to see, there were some feelings she had to keep from him and he knew this.

"Thank you, Inspector," Esme dipped her head, "I didn't know your father was on board, Miss Fisher," she stepped towards the chaise and sat when Jack stood up.

"Yes, well," Phryne inhaled, "that a whole other story."

Jack left the ladies to chat and said he would send a steward with the tea and biscuits.

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"He's very kind," Esme murmured, "you are very lucky."

"Am I?" Phryne sighed, "I suppose I am, given that I make his life quite awkward, at times."

Esme waited to be enlightened, and, over the tea and biscuits, she was. Phryne told her how they had first met, some of the pickles she had got into, her life in Melbourne. She nibbled a biscuit with each story and sipped the tea, beginning to feel much better, less light headed.

"But you don't think you'll marry?" Esme mused, "even though you are partners in every sense of the word."

"I don't know," Phryne was even now trying to convince herself she was not the marrying kind, but each day with Jack had her more open to the idea. "He's divorced, I have not been saving myself, I had a bad experience with a relationship in France - I don't think either of us are good at that kind of thing."

"But ..." oh how to put this? "you love him, are _in_ love with him, two different things, I know, and I haven't known you long, at all, but all I see are two sides of the same coin."

"I feel as if I have known you for ages," Phryne smiled, "almost like Mac."

"Mac?"

"My oldest and dearest friend. We go back far too far to put a time frame on it." Phryne thought Mac would tell her the same thing, about her relationship with Jack, indeed had tried to on numerous occasions, with her eyes if not her words, "Mac always knows what I am thinking, catches me when I fall from a man, gives me a good scolding when I need one, and drinks my whisky faster than I do."

"Sounds like a true friend," Esme smiled.

"She is."

They sat and talked for a little while longer until Phryne could hide her tiredness and discomfort no longer.

"Shall I get you another hot water bottle?" Esme stood up and went to the call button.

"That would be kind of you," Phryne smiled, "I'll just ..." she waved in the direction of the bathroom.

When she reappeared Esme had turned the bed down and pulled the curtains half way over the windows. By the time Phryne had taken her robe off and allowed Esme to settle her the hot water bottle had arrived.

Esme left her when she was sleeping, and smiled. She could, of course, tell her how the mother of the boys she had taught had stopped the very same problem that Phryne had, but, somehow, she didn't think Miss Fisher was particularly open to the idea of becoming a mother.

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"After the first baby, Miss Swithin," Mrs Davies had said, "I never had any trouble with that," a strange conversation to have with one's employer, and one that would never have happened if one of the farm workers wives hadn't been struck down with the same debilitating cramps Phryne was suffering.

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Jack arranged for a tray of small bites to be sent to the stateroom for he and Phryne to have for lunch. He hoped there would be something she could eat, some plain and some not so. Slices of cold ham and chicken, fresh bread, quiche (though Jack thought that might be a bit too rich), salads, cheese, pickles and fruit, along with a large jug of iced water and one of lemonade.

They sat on the bed together, the trays before them and it was the first time for over twelve hours he had seen her more like the Phryne he knew, and loved.

"I'm sorry, Jack, it's never been this bad," she picked up a piece of fruit, "I'm truly quite embarrassed ..."

"Honestly, Phryne, you mustn't be," he put his arm round her shoulders, "my mother was a nurse, I have a sister, you can't escape these things, no matter how the family try to hide it ..."

"I've always tried to hide it," she sighed, "I don't know why, even with Rene, though it didn't make any difference to him, he carried on regardless ..." she shuddered, "sorry."

"Stop apologising," he laughed, "you are human, a female human," he teased, "and all the better for it. Don't change, Phryne, I think you are perfect, just the way you are." He squeezed her gently and kissed the top of her head.

"Oh Jack," she gulped, "don't."

He offered her a slice of peach and smiled to himself, even if they couldn't make a go of it, had to agree to part, there would be no one else but The Honourable Phryne Fisher, for him.

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By the time Esme and Godfrey stood in front of the Reverend Price, Phryne was fully recovered though still slightly embarrassed, which confused her. She put as much of it behind her as she helped Esme dress for the occasion, making a quick trip into Gibraltar for a suitable, though not white, dress, and lending her a garter and a sapphire necklace for the borrowed and blue.

"You look lovely," Phryne told her, "I know Jack is over the moon that you have asked him to give you away, Godfrey is a lucky man."

"Thank you, Miss Fisher," Esme's eyes glistened with happy tears, "I know we couldn't have come this far without you."

"Rubbish," Phryne pooh-poohed the suggestion, "you are stronger than you think."

"Well, I hope so," Esme looked her straight in the eye, "because if this," she stroked her stomach, "is a girl, I shall name her Phryne."

"Are you sure?" Phryne gasped.

"Absolutely," Esme grinned, not in the least bit ashamed she was pregnant out of wedlock.

The wedding was a sweet, understated service, simple and warm. The Reverend Price welcomed them and gave a little sermon on believing in oneself and not what everybody expected one to be. Even Phryne found it touching.

In the absence of family, but in the presence of friends, Esme and Godfrey toasted their union in Miss Fisher's stateroom.

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Phryne cuddled into Jack and sighed. She vowed to herself that from tomorrow, she would hide nothing from him, no matter how much it hurt.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the voyage continued in a bland and uneventful way. Phryne and Jack saw the Milton's occasionally but left them to begin their married life in peace. Henry was allowed out of his cabin for the final leg of the journey, from Gibraltar to London and John Swithin had been told to leave his sister alone, that she would deal with their father when they finally got to Bristol.

"We weren't going to go," Esme confided in Phryne one afternoon over tea, "but, Godfrey says we should go and see him, that he should be introduced to him, and we have to see the solicitor."

"I believe Godfrey is right," Phryne smiled, "no point in hiding from him, and anyway, don't you think it might smooth the way if he knows he is to become a grandfather?"

"I doubt it," she hummed, "he's not the kind and warm type, no sense of humour. Your father is much more the grandfatherly type."

Phryne spluttered into her tea, "my father!" she put the cup down and wiped her hands, "lord help us! He's a rogue, Esme, all smiles and charm."

"Better than grim and grumpy," Esme laughed. "What would your father say, if you told him you were to provide him with a grandchild?"

"He'd laugh himself silly," Phryne shook her head, "he knows I'd make a dreadful mother. Consider my lifestyle, Esme, attending crime scenes with Jack, whether he wants me to or not, not good for a child. Honestly, I've never seen the attraction of parenthood."

"Nanny," Esme stated, simply and raised her eyebrows.

"Stop it." Phryne giggled, "no nanny would put up with me as an employer."

Esme decided to drop the subject, she didn't want to back her new friend into a corner, but, privately, Phryne Fisher would make an excellent, if unorthodox, mother.

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They docked on a chilly, dull morning. Remembering what England could be like in November, Phryne had brought a sensible warm, fur coat and reminded Jack that he would need something to keep out the chill. They said good bye to the Milton's wishing them well in their dealings with the solicitor and Esme's father. John had decided to go straight to Bristol and tell his father that Esme was on the way. Jack had had a good long talk to him, when he had left Phryne to talk with Esme over tea and biscuits. John had listened, and while Jack had not told him about the inheritance he understood that Esme was not a possession to be used at will, but a human being with feelings and a mind of her own.

"She's a sister any man should be proud of," he finished with, "and it would be nice if you two could at least remain friends."

"I'd be careful, if I were you," Esme took him aside, "don't tell him I married Godfrey, if you can help it. Wait for us to get there. We are staying in London for a couple of days, Miss Fisher and the Inspector have kindly arranged for us to have some time in a hotel and a visit to the theatre, as a wedding present."

"Oh, right," John scratched his head. "Esme?" he sighed, "what's going on? I mean I have no problem with you getting married, good luck to you, I say. He insisted I get you back still single. Sorry for the ass I made of myself, over your ..." he cleared his throat, "accommodation."

"I'll tell you when we meet up," she patted his arm, he always was a bit of a twit, she thought, "don't worry about it, just keep your head down."

John wandered off with his small suitcase and wondered if it might be an idea if he could bunk down at a friend's house rather than go and see his father, until Esme and Godfrey arrived in Bristol. His father could be volatile if things didn't go well.

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Phryne, Jack and Lord Fisher stood outside Paddington Green Police Station. Henry had his suitcase with him, Phryne's and Jack's luggage had been sent on to their hotel. Until this moment Henry didn't actually think Phryne would let Jack take him in, he thought he would be sent home, with a flea in his ear but, now he was here and he realised, that, for once, he hadn't got away with it.

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The desk sergeant looked up. He didn't usually get persons of quality in his station, and this lady was certainly a person of quality, the bloke with her was not that far off either, he thought. The man standing next to her; he noticed her hand was on his arm holding tight; looked like the archetypical upper class society chap.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, Victoria State Police, to see Inspector Cranston," Jack passed the charge sheet over and his warrant card.

Sergeant Crosby had been told to expect him, and Lord Fisher, but nothing had been said about a woman.

"The Honourable Phryne Fisher," Jack introduced her, "the owner of the paintings."

"Right, er," he read through the document quickly and looked at the warrant card, handing it back to Jack, "take a seat, I'll find 'im."

They sat on a wooden bench, much like the one a City South.

"Just like home, Jack," Phryne leaned close and whispered.

"He's no Collins," he nodded in the direction Crosby had gone.

She grinned, thinking how Hugh would have nervously scuttled off to see if the Inspector was receiving visitors, or had Miss Fisher with him.

Inspector Cranston came through the desk-gate, his hand extended to greet his Antipodean colleague.

"Good to meet you, at last," he beamed. A youngish man, tall and broad, as fair as Jack was dark, "heard a lot about you, wife's sister lives in Melbourne."

"Oh, right," Jack raised his eyebrows, "I see."

"All good," he grinned back, "and Miss Fisher, I didn't know you would be along as well," he held out his hand. "Well, come on through, and we shall look at how things are, shall we?"

He stood aside for them to pass through, glaring at Lord Fisher who he knew, from the paperwork and photograph he had been sent, was the man they wanted in regard to the fraudulent sale of fake Ming vases and the theft and sale of certain artworks belonging to the lady here present.

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Armed with tea and biscuits, made by Inspector Cranston's wife, they discussed the first part of the case, that of the Ming vases.

"Now, this case," he looked at Jack, "I believe has been processed in Melbourne, in that his Lordship has been found to be guilty of trying to pass off two vases as genuine Ming, and that sale resulted in the death of one young collector, though not by your hand," looked over at Henry, who looked down.

"The murderers were apprehended and sent to trial. Lord Fisher was not found to be complicit in Raymond Cross' death, in that he was not at the house at the time and was just trying to raise money." Jack sighed, "Miss Fisher has seen to the disposal of the vases."

"I see," Cranston flicked his eyes across to her and noticed the totally innocent expression on her face, "and how, may I ask, Miss Fisher, did you dispose of the vases."

"I smashed them," she replied, simply.

"Smashed evidence?" his eyebrows hit his hairline.

"They belonged to the family," she nodded, "they used to stand at the foot of the stairs, I chipped them, years ago, sliding down the banister, I just finished the job." She raised an impeccably plucked eyebrow and smiled.

"Now, to the paintings," Cranston thought he'd leave that, he had trouble imagining this elegantly dressed lady sliding down a banister rail, even if it had been as a child. Jack had no difficulty, in fact he wouldn't be surprised if she showed him exactly how she had done it, when they eventually got to the family home.

"They belong to me," Phryne inhaled, "gifted to me by the artist, when I was his model."

"Oh, right," Cranston coughed, "do you wish to proceed with charges?"

"Just because he is my father doesn't mean he can get away with this," she huffed, "I want my paintings back, they weren't his to sell. He has refused to tell me who he sold them to, I suppose he thinks I will go and demand them back."

Jack coughed, that was just what he thought she would do.

"Well," Cranston cleared his throat, "I've done some digging, through the auction houses, but it would seem it was a private sale." He turned to Henry, "so, who did you sell them to? The sale of stolen goods is a criminal act."

Henry remained tight-lipped, he didn't know which was worse, telling Phryne he had sold the paintings to a aristocrat that he had tried to marry her off to or whatever the law would throw at him, for selling on her paintings.

"Not speaking, my lord," Cranston all but sneered, "well, perhaps you need time to think." He got up and opened the door, "Crosby!" he yelled, "private room for Lord Fisher, he needs time to think!"

Crosby, obviously the strong silent type, Phryne thought, took Henry, not too gently, out of the interview room and down the corridor to the cells.

"Perhaps," Cranston sighed, "he will come to his senses, overnight ... meanwhile ..."

"We have a hotel booked," Jack shifted in his chair, a little nervous at intimating he and the Honourable Miss Fisher may be staying at the same establishment.

"Good, good," Cranston observed, absent-mindedly, " pop by tomorrow, say, ten thirty-ish, should have something out of him then."

Jack stood and offered Miss Fisher his hand. She looked up, sadness in her eyes, "thank you, Inspector," she sighed, "I suppose we shall have to wait."

"He'll come round, one way or the other," Jack gave a little smile, "he knows the consequences."

Phryne didn't comment, she was rather sorry her father wouldn't tell her who he had sold the paintings to, wondering why he was so closed on the subject.

Leaving contact details at the desk, they hailed a taxi and headed to the hotel.

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Jack asked for tea to be sent up to their suite, Phryne looked just about done in and though coming by sea they had slowly worked through the time zones, he was feeling somewhat jaded himself.

She flung her coat over the back of a couch and flopped down on it, sighing heavily.

"Suppose I'd better ring mother," she accepted the tea from Jack and started to make a mental list of things she had to do. "At least let her know we've docked and I didn't throw father in the drink."

"It would be a good idea," he nodded sitting next to her, "and see if she has any idea who he would sell the paintings to."

"I don't think she will know," she hummed.

"Have they ever been where visitors could see them?" he asked, "or always in your rooms?"

"A couple were hung in my private sitting room," she wriggled to get more comfortable, "I would ring the changes every now and then, the others were kept in a crate in an empty room at the top of the house."

"May I ask ... I know you were the model for them ...?"

"Nudes and semi-nudes," she watched for a reaction, "you can see why I didn't want them on public display at home. Believe it or not Jack," she put her cup down, "I do mind who sees me naked."

"You did a fan dance ... in a club," he pointed out.

"Yes, I did, didn't I," she mused, "well, it was for a purpose, wasn't it? Nobody knew me, apart from you, Cec, Bert, Hugh and poor Dot."

"Dorothy couldn't get the raggers out fast enough," he recalled, grinning. Dot had been like a school ma'am chivvying and chiding Cec and Bert, who had been told to stay outside.

"I'll bet," a slow smile spread over her lovely face, "still, if I didn't care one jot, I'd never bother with my robe, would I?"

"S'pose not," he agreed.

"Anyway, the paintings can be viewed over and over again," she kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under her, "I was far enough away, on that stage, that not every inch of me could be ogled at, and those at the back of the room, or a little bit tipsy, would not have seen much, beyond a female with her top off."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Phryne," he patted her knee, "not about past cases."

"Thank you, Jack," she smiled and stretched. "I think I'll have a nap," she uncurled, "care to join me?"

"A nap, Miss Fisher?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Jack, a nap." He knew she meant it, and nodded, taking her hand and giving her a quick hug and kiss.

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After a relaxing snooze and a leisurely bath, in which the water slopped over the side, Jack and Phryne decided that dinner and some form of entertainment would be just the thing to banish the blues she was feeling. If only her father would give up the name of the man he had sold the paintings to they could stop the case. Of course she would probably have to buy them back, a fact that irked her.

She rang her mother, just to let her know she was in England, that as soon as she had finished the business in London she and her travelling companion; no don't make up a guest room, mother; and her father would head over to the estate.

Margaret, Lady Fisher, hummed resignedly, and said she had set the Dower house up for her husband and she had the details of the separation.

"Oh dear, mother," Phryne sighed, "I'm sorry."

"So am I dear," Margaret murmured, "and while you're here could you give me an idea how I go on with the house. It's too big for me, on my own, and even if I let your father come back to me, it's too big for the two of us."

"I'll give it some thought," her daughter agreed, "hopefully we'll be over soon."

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Dinner was light and well cooked; a consommé, followed by salmon mousse. The main course was beef wellington with green vegetables and dessert - a rich chocolate fondant and cream. It was accompanied by a delicate hock, a robust claret and a sweet sauternes in order.

Phryne heaved a satisfied sigh and leant back in her seat, "I think I shall have to walk some of that off, Jack," she smiled.

"Good job it's a clear night," he agreed with her, "cold, though."

"Well, we'll just have to wrap up warm, then," she reached across and took his hand, "keep close," she winked.

"I shall endeavour to ensure you are kept warm at all times, Miss Fisher," he smirked.

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In spite of the biting cold air the streets were busy. People were falling out of bars, tripping along the pavements, damp from earlier rain, the theatres were disgorging their patrons and a few were staggering along from or to parties - neither Jack not Phryne could tell - waving half empty bottles of champagne or wine and stopping every time they needed to take a swig. Phryne had done may things in her life, been to many parties, reputable and disreputable, but she had never drunk out of a bottle in the street. Watching it happen reminded her why, it wasn't exactly a pretty sight. Jack steered her round one particularly drunken couple before the man draped himself over her and poured the remains of the cheap bottle of red wine down her back. He tripped, let go of his young lady who was his support and draped himself over the bonnet of a parked car and vomited into the gutter. Phryne and his young lady skipped out of the way to avoid being splashed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took another swig,

"God awful grog," he grunted, "want some?" he waved the bottle at his girl.

"Put it down, Sammy," she suppressed a belch, "you're blotto, let's go home."

"Nonsense, old girl," he hiccupped, "onto the club, come on," he tried to grab her hand but missed and swung round landing around a lamppost.

"Taxi?" Jack murmured in her ear.

"No taxi would take them," she shook her head, "come on, I think she's less gone than he is."

"Onward!" the man shouted, raising the bottle above his head, "the club!"

"This way, you idiot," his girl good-naturedly, if a little unsteadily, steered him further down the road.

"Oh Jack," Phryne sighed, slipping her hand through the crook in his arm, "I must be getting old, that behaviour ..."

"Not very good," he agreed, "and it's nothing to do with age," he turned and smiled, "it's just a question of being able to hold ones liquor. I don't suppose, even in your heady days in Paris ..."

"Never drunk so much I was sick," she shrugged her fur clad shoulders, "may have had the odd headache in the morning ..."

"Haven't we all," he patted her arm, "now, where to?"

"I suggest if we don't find a club or some music in the next fifteen minutes we go back to the hotel," she fell into step beside him, "I'm sure we can amuse ourselves until bedtime."

"I didn't notice a draughts set," he teased.

She tugged his arm and laughed.

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They did find a small club, with a jazz band and passable whisky. The band were good, from America, according to the bartender, and Phryne encouraged Jack onto the dance floor. She knew he could waltz, but was pleasantly surprised he could dance freestyle, Charleston and tango - rather too well. Her hitherto rather buttoned up Inspector had hidden depths she was willing to plunder.

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It was very late, or early, when they arrived back at the hotel, tired, and Phryne was ready to remove her shoes, which she did as soon as they stepped onto the carpet on the stairs, hanging onto Jack's arm and getting a stormy stare from the concierge at the front desk.

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"Well, Inspector," she teased as he helped her out of her coat, "you are a dark horse." She turned round and draped her arms over his shoulders, linking her hands behind his head.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Miss Fisher," he put his arms round her waist and leant forward to kiss her.

Their undressing of each other and subsequent love making was languorous, Jack's fingers were light and dextrous, as he explored her with gentle touches, lazy kisses before he entered her slowly and fully, and set up a rhythm strong, yet leisurely, gradually increasing in line with Phryne's need for fulfilment, as she urged him on to a heart stopping climax that left her breathless and seeing stars. He fell to one side, kissing her shoulder until she let him go and sighed with satisfaction. She snuggled under him and returned the kisses to his torso, sleepily.

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Jack was one of those people who could set his body clock so that he woke when he needed to. As they were to get to the Police Station around ten-thirty he deduced that eight-thirty would be a good time to open his eyes, and possible nudge Phryne into opening one eye, at the very least. He reckoned she would like a soak in the bath and breakfast at leisure, before heading over to Paddington Green. Good coffee was a must, if she was to face her father.

She mumbled incoherently, and turned to bury her face in the pillow.

"Phryne," he whispered, drawing little circles on her naked shoulder, "I'm going to ring for coffee and run your bath." He slid out of bed and smiled as she pulled the covers over her and blew out in frustration, she had her own ideas of how the day should start.

She was actually grateful for his way of getting started that morning. He had a shower and shaved before he ran her a bath of the perfect temperature and tipped in the preferred jasmine bath salts, then left her to soak and wake up in her own time. By the time she had bathed and dried herself and donned her robe, the coffee had arrived, set on a pretty tray, together with some pastries, breads and preserves.

"I thought a leisurely breakfast," he poured her a second cup of coffee, "rather than a full hot meal. We could stop for something after seeing your father," he watched for a reaction, but given that her mouth was full of croissant at the time, got none, "you may need something ... fortifying."

She nodded and swallowed, wherever they got the croissants and pastries from she needed to congratulate them. They were superb, buttery and light and not filling and heavy.

Satisfied with the coffee which was almost at Mr Butler's standard, and the pastries, Phryne dressed soberly for her; black pleated skirt, cream long line blouse with a soft collar and black silk scarf, covered with a black wool coat, of the most perfect cut, topped off with a black cloche hat with cream band and flower.

She adjusted Jack's tie, slate grey, to match his suit and tiptoed up to kiss his cheek. Really, all she wanted to do was curl up in his arms and let the world, or her father, go away.

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Another damp November morning did nothing to brighten her mood. Jack hoped that Lord Fisher would have seen sense and decided to say who had bought the pictures, then they could do something about getting them back.

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Crosby was on the front desk again and nodded pleasantly when they entered. He let them through to Inspector Cranston who was reviewing the paperwork and notes he had made.

"Good morning," he stood up and smiled, holding out his hand, "please ..." he indicated the seats. "Well, Lord Fisher has finally given up the name of the person he sold our paintings to," he looked at Phryne.

"Really?" she opened her eyes wide, "who?"

"A Lord Hunter Tockington," he checked a piece of paper, "lives in Dickleburgh."

"I know," she set her lips in a thin line, "and I know Lord Tockington."

"R i i ght," Jack drew the word out, sensing it was not in an ordinary society gathering way she knew him.

"Father tried to marry me off to him, years ago," she looked over and above Cranston's head, "needless to say, it didn't go well. He's a lot older than me, and at the time I was only about seventeen."

"I see," Jack mused, instantly imagining a feisty teenager throwing back her head and telling her father something along the lines of 'not on your life!' and storming off.

"Hunter is perfectly sweet, Jack," she continued, "and as a friend, one of the best. When I turned him down, after cooling off," she grinned, "he just took my hand and kissed it and said he wasn't surprised and that any man who caught me would be a very lucky man indeed."

"So, he wasn't upset?"

"I don't think so," she tipped her head to one side, "I think he realised I was too young to even consider marriage, I think it was more my father trying to marry me off to another wealthy aristocrat, rather than he actively chasing a young wife."

"But he bought the paintings," Jack reminded her.

"Yes, he did, didn't he," she nodded, "Hunter Tockington is a very wealthy man, Jack," she turned to look at him, "and father has spent rather a lot of the family money, apart from getting funds from the sale of the paintings I think he is probably trying to start the same negotiations over again."

"Phryne," Jack hissed, "you are not a commodity to be bought and sold, no woman is."

She put her hand on his arm, smiling that he would use her first name in front of the Inspector, "don't worry Jack, Hunter would probably agree with you."

"Now, the question is, Miss Fisher, Inspector," Cranston sat back and observed the two, "how do you want to proceed?"

"Well, I suppose I can't leave father to enjoy your hospitality, but I'm not going to send him home, on his own," Phryne mused, "I'm afraid I don't trust him to get there without finding some kind of gambling den. However, I do think I should go over to see Hunter, apologise and see if he will give me the paintings back."

"He has no right to them, in law," Jack pointed out, "but he does have the right to sue for compensation, from Lord Fisher, if he gives them back to you."

Phryne rolled her eyes, she would end up paying for her own goods. Damn!

"Well, perhaps I can come to some arrangement with Hunter," she made to get up, "father certainly hasn't the money to pay him back."

"So," Cranston stood up, as did Jack, "you propose to take your father with you?"

"Unless you have a better idea?" she shrugged.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" he asked.

"Well, overnight, I would say," she accepted Jack's hand and stood, "there is a train?"

"Crosby!" Cranston yelled out of the office, "trains to Dickleburgh, times!"

"Sir!"

Crosby returned quickly with the timetables in his hand, "er, yep," he nodded, "from Paddington, takes a couple of hours, runs every hour."

"Lovely," Phryne bestowed her sweetest smile.

"Leave him here," Cranston huffed, "one more night won't hurt."

"Are you sure?" Jack raised his eyebrows, "it's not a hotel."

"Quiet at the moment," Cranston shrugged his shoulders, "he'll be alright."

Phryne declined the offer of seeing her father, and headed back to the hotel to phone Hunter Tockington and arrange to hold the suite over for them while they headed to Norfolk.

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"Lord Tockington, please," she smiled down the phone, "the Honourable Phryne Fisher," in answer to "may I tell him who's calling?"

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In his study at Tockington Hall, Hunter was most surprised to get a phone call from the subject of his paintings.

"Miss Fisher," his surprise came through in his voice, "what can I do for you?"

"Lord Tockington," she sighed, "I believe you have some property of mine, paintings ..." she found herself unsure as to say they had not been her father's to sell.

"I bought them off your father," he frowned, "he said that you lived abroad and had no use for them, though I did wonder if that was true. Oh dear, Miss Fisher, what has the silly old fool done this time?"

"I see word has got round," she sighed.

"Oh he's well known for his gambling, and his debts, I'm afraid," Tockington could see there was no point in trying to fob her off. "Come over, dear girl," he smiled, "let's talk."

"Can I bring a friend?" she asked, "he's a Detective Inspector, from Melbourne."

"Well, as I have an old friend of yours here, I don't see why not," he chuckled to himself.

"Bless you, Hunter," she smiled, "we shall be over by teatime."

"Lovely," he looked up and smiled at the other person in the room, "one room or two."

"Ooh, you cheeky devil," she laughed, "one, please."

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Phryne explained, during the train journey, that Hunter Tockington had bore he no malice at all when she turned him down.

"He was very sweet about it, told me to enjoy myself before settling down, it was why he had not married, not got round to it, with travelling and bolstering the family business of farming and the stud," she obviously quite liked the man, as a friend, "he made it into the place to go to for racing thoroughbreds, winners come out of his stables, Jack, and he is widely known at Ascot and Epsom."

Jack was pleased it seemed they weren't going to have to battle some disgruntled suitor she had thrown over. Lord Tockington sounded like a man they could deal with, amicably.

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Tockington had sent a Governess cart for them, large enough to transport two people and a smallish suitcase. The groom was also one of the training jockeys, given his slight build and bow legs. He cheerfully touched his forelock and helped Miss Fisher into the cart and waited until they were both settled before closing the half door and setting off at a trot.

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The door was opened by a short, broadly built man who informed them, in a strong, but musical, Italian accent, that His Lordship was in the drawing room and would meet them when they had freshened up from their journey.

They were shown to a suite of rooms, with its own adjoining bathroom. The bedroom had an old fashioned four-poster in dark oak, with deep red velvet curtains round it. There was a fireplace with a fire crackling away in it, a couch and side table. The wardrobe was so big and deep Phryne thought it might lead to another realm. It was elaborately carved with trees and fauns, lions and other fantasy animals. There was a dressing table with a mirror and stool in front of it. The floor was scattered with rugs of all kinds, oriental and Turkish, Phryne thought.

They removed their coats and washed faces and hands. Phryne changed into lighter weight mary janes, standing her boots to the side of the fireplace. She brushed her hair and repaired her make-up before taking Jack's arm and heading down to the drawing room to meet Lord Tockington.

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His Lordship was standing with his back to the door talking to a woman. She was dressed in a smart dark green wool dress, her fair hair waved and set in an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. The woman was neither short nor tall, slender - but this was the back view. Phryne wondered if this was Lady Tockington, and she had missed something in the news, the dress was too good to be the housekeeper's. It could be the friend he had spoken of, she supposed, but she didn't recognise her, not from the back, anyway.

"The Honourable Miss Fisher and guest, my lord," the butler intoned. Lord Tockington turned round and smiled, holding out his hand.

"Phryne, my dear," he shook her hand and stood back, "well, you have grown up," he smiled and turned to Jack, "Detective Inspector ..?"

"Robinson, Jack Robinson," Jack nodded and held out his hand, "good to meet you, Lord Tockington."

"Hunter, please," he grinned, taking Jack's hand in a firm grip, "dreadful name to get lumbered with," he laughed, "welcome , welcome ... whisky, sherry?"

"Er whisky, thank you," Jack smiled.

"Phryne?"

"Same, please," she grinned.

"Marvellous," he turned to the butler, "off you pop, Vincente."

Vincente obligingly 'popped off', to do his master's bidding.

"Met him in Italy," Hunter grinned, "waiting on in a hotel, far too good for that, brought him home, knows what I'm thinking before I do." He turned to the woman who still faced the fireplace, "now, Phryne m'dear," he indicated the stranger, "bet you can't guess who's currently warming herself?"

"I'm going to be hugely embarrassed aren't I, Hunter?" she laughed.

The woman turned round, "hullo, fellow angler," she grinned, casting an imaginary line and drawing Phryne over.

"Enid?" Phryne gasped, "Enid Fairbrother, what on earth ?" They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed cheeks before standing holding hands at arms lengths and looking each other up and down.

"Here more than at home," Enid laughed, "Tockey's an old friend of the family."

"You look very well, Enid," Phryne grinned, "what have you been up to?"

"Heaps," she replied, "but who's your catch?" she eyed Jack up and down.

"Meet Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of the Victoria State Police," Phryne pulled him over, "Jack, Enid Fairbrother, we were at school together."

"Miss Fairbrother," he took her hand with old fashioned courtesy and kissed it.

"Lord, he's lovely," Enid whispered.

"Hands off, Enid," Miss Fisher warned in a whisper, "he's spoken for."

"You always did have good taste."

Jack managed not to blush too much as he overheard the two ladies appraisal, though he did like the idea that he was 'spoken for', by the Honourable Lady. He noticed Hunter watching with approval, he thought, and something more. Enid was an attractive girl, he had to admit, not in the same way as Phryne, she was, in his mind, heart stoppingly beautiful, but Enid was not what he would think of as a country girl, not 'hearty' enough. Slim built, elegantly dressed and lightly made up. There was more to the two than just 'friendship'. When Phryne had described Hunter as being a lot older than she was he expected a doddery old man, with sparse white hair, bent with age and myopic. He was, in point of fact, upright in stance, elegant, slim but not too slim, his hair still thick and salt and pepper, rather than pure white, clear dark eyes and a neat moustache, Jack put him at, perhaps, ten years older than himself.

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"It would appear the girls have much to talk about, Jack," Hunter passed him a glass of whisky from the tray Vincente had brought in, "so," he waved his hand in the direction of a couple of chairs by the fire, opposite Phryne and Enid who were chattering away ten to the dozen, "how did you meet Phryne, you didn't arrest her, did you?"

"Nearly," Jack smiled, "for interfering in a police investigation."

"Was she?"

"She was," Jack sipped his whisky, a malt he recognised from Phryne's cellar, "and still does."

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While Jack and Hunter got to know each other Phryne and Enid giggled their way through what they were doing with themselves nowadays.

"No," Enid shook her head in answer to the oft asked question on her marital status, "you?" she rolled her eyes towards Jack.

"Nope," Phryne sipped the whisky, "it's complicated."

"So, when you left school, you were heading to finishing school, if I recall correctly."

"Ended up driving ambulances and nursing," Phryne sighed, "bloody awful, never forgotten it."

"Not surprised," Enid touched her arm sympathetically, "we used the house for injured servicemen. Terrible."

"Indeed."

"So, you came home?"

"No, stayed in Paris, did a stint as an artist's model ..."

"Ah yes, the paintings,"

"They were gifted to me by the artist," Phryne pursed her lips, "they are the best thing to come out of that time. I had an experience, with another painter - let's just say it didn't end well. I live in Melbourne, took the trust fund, and now I'm a Lady Detective."

"Fabulous, darling," Enid grinned, "and Jack? I suppose he figures in this venture of yours."

"It's how we met, but," Phryne wanted to stop talking about herself, "you and Hunter, you're not telling me ... come on Enid, 'Tockey'?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Enid winked.

While Phryne still regarded Hunter as too old for her, some girls like an older man, and Enid and Hunter were right, together.

"Of course you don't," Phryne laughed. "How did you meet, you said the families are old friends?"

"Yes, but we really met at the races." Enid sipped her drink, "I bet on one of his horses, first time. Father said it was only polite, neighbours, you know."

"Well, bearing in mind you taught me to ride ..." Phryne reminded her.

"Quite, well I started coming over, just to see how the horses were going," she replied, "he would tell me which ones were running in any races, I bet, I won, rather a lot, then he needed someone to run the place, do the books and so forth, his man died, and well there you go ..." she raised her glass and downed the rest in one, "... he is such a sweetheart, Phryne, I'm dreadfully fond of him," she added the last in a whisper.

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Phryne wanted to broach the subject of the paintings, but everyone was getting along rather well, she worried it would spoil the happy atmosphere. Hunter knew why she had come to see him and, before they changed for dinner he suggested he have a private word with her, in his study.

"Now then, my dear," he indicated she should sit by the desk, "about these paintings."

"I'm sorry, Hunter, really," she sighed, "but they weren't his to sell."

"Funnily enough I wasn't looking to buy, at the time," he leant back in his chair. "I bumped into him, at a club, he was looking for a buyer for some art work and when he saw me I suppose he thought he had a captive audience, being as how he had tried to marry you off to me," he laughed. "He had arranged a private viewing in one of the upstairs rooms and when I saw them I had to buy them, all of them, though I'm afraid I didn't pay anything near what they are worth."

"Oh, I didn't realise he put them on show to all and sundry," she pouted, "I might just have well done a fan dance for them and be done with it."

"Yes well," he cleared his throat, "I wanted to spare your blushes, though if you are in the habit of doing fan dances in clubs ... I bought them so they wouldn't be on show. I found the idea rather distasteful, that a lot of men who should know better were, for want of a better word, salivating over you, my dear. Beautiful as you are, that, to me, wasn't at all acceptable."

"Oh, Hunter," she breathed, "you are such a sweet man, I now feel rather guilty for wanting them back."

"You can have them, dear girl," he leant forward, elbows on the desk, "all except one, in return for a favour."

"And that would be?" she eyed him warily, "remember Hunter, I am with a Detective ..."

"Nothing like that," he smiled, "I assure you; it's Enid ..."

"Enid? what about her?" Phryne leant forward, elbows on her knees.

"Well, she's rather ... I am well, taken with her, and, well ..."

"You want to marry her," she said simply, it was a plain as a pikestaff, he adored her.

"I'm not getting any younger ..."

"Who is."

"... she's quite a bit younger than me, as you know, it's just that ..." he ran his hand over his head, "... well, do you think she'll accept me? I'd hate to lose her, just by asking the wrong question."

"Just ask her, Hunter," Phryne reached over and squeezed his hand, "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"Really, you think so?" his face lit up and years fell away.

"I do," she nodded, "now which painting is this going to cost me?"

"This one," he went over to a stack of paintings by a filing cabinet, "as you can see I haven't hung any of them, knowing you would come for them." He held up a simple head portrait, one Pierre had done in a quiet moment, it was never fully finished, more of a sketch, really.

"Oh, well," she was surprised, then maybe not so, "I suppose that is fair exchange, at least you can leave it up in front of the in-laws."

Hunter laughed and agreed.

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The rest of the evening was spent on stories to fill in the missing years over a wonderful dinner accompanied by excellent wines. Neither Phryne nor Hunter would say what kind of arrangement they had come to as regards the paintings, save it was acceptable to them both.

Jack had just finished recalling another case that Phryne had, in his words, "trampled all over" when she suppressed a 'yawn'.

"Sorry," she apologised, "long day."

Jack stood up and offered her his hand, "perhaps it's time for bed, Phryne," he turned to Lord Tockington and Enid, "thank you for a lovely evening."

"I'm so glad you came," Hunter stood and smiled, "sleep well."

"I think I'll head up, too," Enid stood, "busy day tomorrow."

"A word, before you do, Enid," Hunter had just about gathered enough courage to propose, and he was going to act on Phryne's advice, strike while the iron was hot.

Phryne tugged Jack's hand and they left them.

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"Phryne, is something going on?" Jack started to undress, "you were a bit quick to pull me out of the drawing room."

"Hunter wanted my advice," she shimmied out of her dress and hung it on a hanger, "about Enid."

He raised an eyebrow, it was rare for her to be asked for advice over matters of the heart.

"You didn't notice?" she returned the look.

"That they adore each other?" he smiled, "plain as the nose on your beautiful face."

"Flatterer," she teased, heading into the bathroom.

She returned wearing a pink silk nightdress and matching robe, her face devoid of make-up. He had his pyjama trousers over his arm and passed her, giving her a quick kiss on the way.

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"So," he slipped into bed beside her, "he's going to propose, then?"

"Before he loses his nerve," she affirmed, "she'll say yes, of course."

"You sure?"

"She told me she's rather fond of him, but it's more than that," she cuddled close and wriggled against him.

"Good."

"Oh Jack," she breathed ...

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"Mornin' Hunter," Phryne helped herself to coffee from the side and filled her plate with eggs and bacon, tomatoes and toast.

"Good morning, dear girl," he beamed back, over the top of his newspaper, "sleep well," he arched an eyebrow.

"Like a top," she grinned, "lovely room."

"Before anyone else comes down," he put the paper to one side, "can I just thank you ... she said yes."

"Told you so," she smiled over her cup of coffee, hot and strong, Vincente's influence she was sure, "so when's the big day?"

"We didn't get that far, last night," he went a little pink, "got side tracked."

"You old devil" she laughed. "Seriously, though, I'm pleased for you, Hunter, and Enid, she will be much better for you than me."

"I think you have found the one for you," he reached over and patted her hand, "whichever way you decide to pursue the relationship, you will always be you, a one off."

"Thanks, Hunter," she smiled, grateful that he wasn't going to suggest they make it a double wedding or something equally sickly.

Jack had dutifully held back as she had asked, hoping to finding out if he had managed to propose, and Enid's answer. He wandered in, nonchalantly, and greeted his host.

"Help yourself, Jack," Hunter smiled, "paper's there, if you're interested."

"Thank you," Jack loaded his plate with a good breakfast, and sat down. He lifted the paper and scanned the headlines and finding nothing about an escaped Baron, left it to one side.

They chatted about nothing in particular until Enid appeared. Phryne stood up and hugged her, "Congratulations, Enid," she kissed her cheek, "Hunter has told us you are to be married."

"Thanks, Phryne," she returned the hug, "Jack. We have to tell my parents, but I think, if we can get away with it, a small affair," she looked over at her new fiancé, "what say you, Hunter, dear."

"Absolutely, my love," he raised his tea cup, "whatever you want."

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After breakfast Phryne and Hunter crated up the paintings. They would be sent to her mother and when Phryne and Jack got there she would put them back in her suite or in the empty room until she and her mother decided what to do with the house.

They said their goodbyes, Enid promised to let her know when the wedding was, hoping she would still be in the country and that both she and Jack would be able to attend.

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The journey on the train gave Phryne time to think, about the house, about her father and the flippant remark she had made to Jack when she was telling him about the estate, that it would make a rather nice hotel. With her father in the Dower House maybe she and her mother could move into the Coach House, and set the main building up as a hotel, and have the staff become waiters, chambermaids and whatever else. Nobody would need to lose their jobs, she smiled to herself.

"What's got you?" Jack asked, softly, "you've been deep in thought since we got on the train, now you're smiling."

"Oh, well ..." she told him her idea, to keep the estate in the family and for it to make it pay for itself.

"It sounds a reasonable idea, Phryne," he tipped his head in thought, "you do need to talk it over with your parents, but ..." he wanted to offer his support, but was worried she would take it the wrong way.

"Thank you, Jack," she reached over and squeezed his hand, "just having you around will help, me, if no one else."

He pulled her across onto his knee and kissed her firmly.


	7. Chapter 7

Phryne and Jack decided to head to the hotel and freshen up, have tea, before going to the police station to deal with her father.

"Jack?" she sat at the dressing table, repairing her makeup, "what kind of legal punishment is available for father, as we have the paintings back and Hunter isn't minded to sue for compensation. He knows I'll be paying," she pouted.

"Hm?" he sat watching her, it always fascinated him watching her put something on her face that he barely noticed, so expertly applied was the rouge and face powder. "Well, he could be charged with failing to pay import duty, on the vases, but they were his, so, maybe not. On the paintings, I don't think there is anything, beyond theft and selling stolen goods. As we have the goods back, he'd probably get off with a fine ..."

"... which I'll have to pay," she finished off.

"Ah, yes, but," he suddenly thought, "if you don't, and he can't pay, a custodial sentence, but first court, to decide one way or the other, if you decide to take it that far."

"Right, poor mother," Phryne turned and stood up, "she'll be mortified."

"Mm..." he mused, "she comes off worst out of this, apart from your bank balance. I suppose no one is going to want to stay at a hotel where one of the owners has been charged with theft, are they?"

"Damn!" she hissed, "I suppose I'll have to pay."

"Last time, love," he pulled her onto his knee, "or it can be paid back, from the profits of the hotel, or, as I say, you can have the charges dropped."

She slumped against him, and finding his heartbeat steady and soothing, cuddled into his chest. He leant back and put his arms round her, kissing the top of her head. "S'ppose we'd best go and pick him up," she mumbled from somewhere inside his jacket.

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"Where is he staying?" Jack helped her into her fur coat and handed her, her hat.

"I've booked him a room here," she pouted, "at least I can keep an eye on him."

Jack laughed, "he's rather like a naughty boy," he bent and kissed her cheek.

"Too big to put over my knee and give a good spanking to," she grinned. "I think I'll have the charges dropped," she lifted her handbag, "get him home and take it from there."

"That sounds like a very good idea, Phryne," he offered her his arm and they left the suite, "you can still impress upon him that his behaviour is not to be endured, by you or your mother."

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Inspector Cranston was pleased to see them, and, Phryne thought, more than a little relieved, especially when she said she would be relieving him of his 'guest'.

"Thank you so much for hanging on to him," she gave him a beatific smile, "I have seen Lord Tockington, and we have come to an arrangement over the pictures, I shan't be taking it any further."

"Does that mean you have the paintings back, Miss Fisher?" he visibly perked up.

"I do," she nodded, "now, has he behaved himself?"

He couldn't help but smile at the idea that a member of the minor aristocracy should 'behave himself' in a police station cell.

"He had some comments about the food," he muttered, "but as I told him, this isn't the Ritz."

"Cheek," she huffed.

Sergeant Crosby was sent to bring Lord Fisher up from the cells. HIs suitcase was restored to him and Inspector Cranston told him how lucky he was to have such a caring daughter, so perhaps he should think of her, and his wife, next time he planned on gambling at cards, or any other way.

Henry hummed, and patted down his jacket. He stepped towards Phryne with his arms open to embrace her, a move she neatly sidestepped by turning to address Cranston.

"Inspector, I'm sure you have a benevolent society for the boys in blue?"

"We do, Miss Fisher," he nodded, wondering where she was going with such a question.

"Then please," she opened her bag and withdrew her cheque book, "add this to the funds." She wrote out a cheque and signed it with her customary flourish.

"Blimey! Er I mean, thank you, that's very generous of you."

"You're quite welcome, thank you, for all your help." She linked arms with Jack and pulled her father along and out of the station.

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Cranston showed the cheque to Crosby who whistled.

"One hundred quid," he ran his finger over the now dry ink, "nice to be appreciated."

His eyes opened even wider and the smile got even broader when the baker from down the street arrived with a tray of cakes.

"From Miss Fisher," he slid the tray onto the counter, "says have a cuppa on her."

It was a very happy selection of Paddington Green's finest that had tea that afternoon, between duties.

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As she came out of the baker's having placed the order for cakes for the station she shrugged at Jack's broad grin.

"Well, without access to Dot and Mr B ..."

"Of course," he offered her his arm, and together with her father they headed back to the hotel, to freshen up before dinner.

Henry was subdued, he realised Phryne had got him out of quite a pickle, though if Margaret hadn't reported the paintings stolen he would have got away with it. He wondered how she had achieved it.

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"Right, father," she unlocked his room door, "have a bath, make yourself comfortable, you can ring down for tea, if you wish," she pushed the door open, "we shall call for you at six thirty, for dinner."

"Right," he stepped in, wondering how spartan his accommodation was to be this time and found himself pleasantly surprised. The room was spacious, dominated by a comfortable looking double bed. There was a small book case with various texts to suit the majority of tastes, a bedside cabinet with lamp and clock. There were two easy chairs and a small table between them. The windows looked out onto the street and there was a screen hiding a bathroom area. Phryne hadn't wanted him whining about substandard rooms, or being confined to a miserable little cubby hole, she would have to endure his company at dinner and on the train journey to the estate.

"Very pleasant," he muttered, "so, just tea?" his eyebrows rose in hope.

"Just tea," she nodded, daring him to suggest perhaps some bubbly, just to celebrate his release.

"Right, lovely," he stepped further in and heard the door close, but not lock.

A bath would be just the thing, he thought. The facilities in the cells were limited to say the least. Mindful of the fact that Phryne had said he could ring down for tea, and that she was picking up the bill he supposed he'd better not try to order anything else, so he did just that and went to run his bath. While the water flowed into the tub he went to open his suitcase and find his dinner suit. It was creased with having been in the case for rather a long time, and his dress shirt definitely needed starching and ironing. He left them on the bed and decided he would ask whoever delivered his tea to have his clothes seen to.

The young man who was tasked with seeing to the Baron had been handsomely rewarded by Miss Fisher, knowing her father would not have anything to tip him with. He brought him tea and scones, and took away the dinner suit and shirt to be brushed and pressed ready for dinner.

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Phryne flopped onto the couch and flung her arms wide. Jack laughed and sat next to her, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers, he pulled it round his neck. He kissed it and tugged her over close, so her head was resting on his shoulder.

"He's incorrigible," she huffed, "fancy expecting champagne, as if!" Her eyebrows shot up under her fringe.

"Bread and water for dinner?" he asked kissing the crown of her head.

"Don't tempt me," she laughed.

"Can I tempt you to a soak and a back rub?" he loosened his tie.

"Oh yes, that sounds divine," she shifted and looked at him, he really could read her like a book.

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She leant forward as Jack reached into the bath and wiped the sponge over her shoulders and down her spine, then up again and across the shoulders, drawing circles with just the right amount of pressure. She hummed her appreciation, "that's nice," she closed her eyes and dropped her head down. He leant down and placed a light kiss on the nape of her neck. She sighed. When he made such tender offerings, she felt she could melt into him and never move again. She had never expected, nor wanted, a man to make her feel safe, she was strong enough, she thought, had always thought she didn't need a male presence in her life to make her feel complete, and up to now she hadn't. Rene would never have washed her so gently in the bath, or even bathed with her, other lovers, well she led them to her bed where they performed, for the most part, slept for as long as she wanted them in the bed with her, and left. Some came back for more, lasted longer than the one night, but none had been with her for as long as Jack; except for Rene, and she didn't count him, not anymore. That was the past, this looked like it might be the future. She felt him step into the bath in front of her and looked up, almost sleepily.

"Hullo, Jack," she murmured.

"Hello, Miss Fisher," he leant forward and trickled water down over her breasts. She smiled and clasped his hand with her own, "my turn," she whispered and took the sponge from him.

She knelt up and soaped the sponge, and started to wash him, from his shoulders, across the broad expanse of his chest down his stomach then down each leg, before moving back up and dropping the sponge to take him in hand and stroke his hardness, feeling him shudder as he tried to keep control. She felt his hands slide up her sides and under her arms, she became almost weightless as he lifted her up over him.

"Oh Jack," she sighed, bending her head to meet his lips in a glorious heady kiss, their tongues inventing their own dance to some music heard only in their heads. He enticed her, teased her, holding her just above his tip, until she wriggled dangerously against him and he lowered her, allowing her to guide him in and move in a sensuous rhythm until they released together, her arching back and gasping out his name flooding him with a warmth he had never known. He smiled and let her lie over him, softly pouring handfuls of water over her back.

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Jack fastened the necklace he had bought her in Colombo round her neck and kissed her just below her hair. She shivered, but controlled herself, they had to go to dinner - with her father. She turned and adjusted his bow tie, and pressed her forehead against his chest.

Cases they had had in Melbourne, murderers they had brought to book had not drained her as much as this. As the 'child' of the family she should have been the one turning to her parents for support, but it would seem in the Fisher family it was the other way round. Sadly, Jack knew what the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective needed was a nice juicy murder.

"Come on, love," he kissed the top of her head, "let's go and dine. I'll see what I can do to entertain you later."

"Now," she smiled up at him, "that should be interesting."

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They knocked on Lord Fisher's door and waited for him to answer. He stood there, his tie slightly askew, not quite tied and smiled.

"Phryne, Jack!" he smiled grandly, "dinnertime already?"

"You know quite well it is, father." she huffed and reached up to right his tie, "I said six thirty and six thirty it is, time for dinner."

"Marvellous," he rubbed his hands together, "I'm starved."

She rolled her eyes and stepped to one side, next to Jack, to allow him to leave the room.

"Er," Henry patted his jacket, "my key."

Phryne held it up, closed and locked the door, and handed it to Jack, who slipped it into his trouser pocket.

"Ri i ight," Henry rumbled.

Jack had suggested they lock the Baron in his room, after dinner, he had plans, he said, and it necessitated the assurance that they wouldn't be called out to extricate him from some 'situation'.

Phryne was intrigued, but kept her excitement to herself.

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"So, Phryne, dear child," Henry took a bite of his smoked salmon, "what is happening with the paintings?"

"I came to an arrangement with Hunter Tockington," she sipped her wine, a light Sauvignon Blanc, "mutually agreeable."

Henry's eyebrows shot up and a smile spread across his face.

Phryne knew quite well what he thought that meant, in spite of the fact that her lover was sitting with them.

"He was most generous," Jack added, "delighted with Phryne's suggestion."

"Now," Phryne didn't want to widen the subject any further and turned the subject to the following day's travel arrangements. "We shall take the train to Somerton tomorrow, home to mother and see what is to be done with the house."

"The house?" Henry gasped, "what do you mean?"

Jack put his hand on her arm, "not now, Miss Fisher," he muttered, "perhaps when we get to the estate. Your mother should be included in the conversation."

"Of course, Jack," she turned and smiled, "she should."

"Phryne ..." Henry positively whined.

"All will become clear, father," she nodded as the waiter took away her plate. The duck had been delicious but her appetite wasn't quite up to it. She declined dessert in favour of coffee, Jack thought perhaps a light supper, later.

They escorted Henry back to his room, bade him goodnight and, when the door was closed, Phryne locked it.

"You need your coat, Miss Fisher," Jack smiled as he returned the key to his pocket.

"Do I?"

"You do."

"Oh ... right."

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"Cambridge Theatre, please," Jack instructed the taxi driver.

"The theatre, Jack," she turned to him a grinned, now much brighter.

"Exactly, Phryne, the theatre," he nodded and handed her into the vehicle.

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The Revue was quite wonderful, Miss Beatrice Lillie was absolutely hilarious and had Phryne in stitches, which made Jack laugh even more, and even when they were leaving the theatre Phryne was still giggling.

"Oh Jack," she tried to catch her breath, "that was wonderful, thank you so much."

"I thought you needed something to cheer you up, and" he hailed a taxi, "as I can't conjure up a nice juicy murder for you ..."

"Don't be naughty, Jack dear," she snuggled close to him in the car, "you have cheered me up immensely, you shall have your reward." She kissed his cheek, and then pulled his face round so she could kiss him properly, and he her.

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She woke and stretched, running her toes down the legs, attached to the body of the man in the bed with her. Jack had ravished her thoroughly once they had closed the door of the suite the previous night. She looked over to the floor to see a trail of clothing starting at the door and ending at the couch. She remembered him lifting her up, bodily, and throwing her over his shoulder, firey style, patting her bottom as he carried her to the bed, where he unceremoniously dumped her. She had alternated between giggling and groaning as he both tickled her and kissed various parts of her person, bringing her to release time and time again, with his fingers, his tongue and his manhood until they both lay breathless with just the sheet draped over them. She thought she would need a week to recover!

Jack thought he'd leave her to bathe alone, even if she had sashayed wearing only her birthday suit to the bathroom. Tempting though it was, they did have to have breakfast, and he was hungry - all thoughts of a late light supper had left his mind when they got back to their suite after the theatre.

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Phryne stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a large fluffy towel. As she had drawn the sponge over herself she had noticed more marks, all over her body, than she had even had before. Wherever Jack had laid his lips he seemed to have left a reminder. None of them hurt but all would have to be covered, thank heavens it was winter, she could wear high necks and definitely black stockings, or trousers ... yes trousers, perfect for travelling in.

"Bathroom's all yours," she smiled as she headed back into the bedroom in a cloud of jasmine scented steam.

He slipped out of bed and she grinned, he seemed to have just as many marks on him. He grabbed his robe and patted her bottom as he passed her.

"What was it Lady Caroline Lamb said about Byron?" he teased, "mad, bad and dangerous to know? Could be applied to you, Miss Fisher."

She dropped the towel, "you're just as bad, Inspector," she grabbed his arm and pulled him close for a quick kiss. As she turned her back he noticed two marks on her lovely buttocks.

"Don't remember these two," he traced his fingers over them, eliciting a shiver from her.

"There was no one else in the bed, Jack," she controlled her breathing, "now, off you go and ablute, or we'll never leave."

"No problem with that," he laughed, squeezed her bum and stepped into the bathroom, to, as she said, ablute.

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Jack did a final check of the suite, for any discarded stockings, items of ladies underwear, and, finding none offered his arm to Phryne and they headed to collect her father from his room. Their suitcases were in the foyer of the hotel, the bill had been paid and a taxi had been called for, to take them to Paddington station and Somerton.

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The found a non-smoking compartment, Henry's cigars were not to be endured on a four hour train journey, and settled in. Henry had his newspaper, which Phryne hoped would send him to sleep, she and Jack had books, but she was sure they would talk, quietly, and watch the countryside go by.

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Henry's newspaper slid to the floor as he dozed off and his head came to rest against the window by the door. Phryne picked it up to see what he had been studying so intently - the racing page! She rolled her eyes and showed it to Jack.

"Any of them Lord Tockington's?" he asked, remembering what she had told him about the stables.

"Not that I can see," she looked down the list, "nope. And I do not intend to tell him that he would be better betting on those. I would like him to stop, altogether, but I'm not sure he can."

"An addiction?" Jack queried.

"Aha," she nodded, "he's always bet on the horses, and cards, 'one day', he used to say, 'one day I'll have the big win'."

"Don't they all say that?" he asked, folding the paper and tucking it down between himself and the wall.

"I expect so," she shrugged, "but it will never happen."

"I wonder if that was why he wanted you to marry Hunter, inside information on the horses, as well as his wealth," Jack mused, reaching over and tugging her to sit next to him.

"Well, he's going to be sorry, isn't he?" she let him put his arm round her and nestled against him. "I wonder if he and Enid have set a date yet."

"Want to go?"

"It would be rude not to, if we are invited," she sighed.

"Mm," he agreed.

"Jack," she shifted and looked up at him, "it occurs to me that you are taking a long time getting father's case sorted. I mean, how much time are you allowed?"

"As long as it takes, and it isn't sorted until you and your mother are taken care of," he gave her a little hug, "the estate sorted and neither of you are left in financial difficulties, least, that 's the way I see it."

"Oh ... oh," she brightened, "you mean, if mother still wants to press charges, even though I haven't and they are my pictures, you would have to stay and see it through."

"Something like that," he smiled gently and winked.

"You are such a thorough man, Inspector," she grinned.

"I aim to give satisfaction, Miss Fisher."

She giggled behind her hand, hoping her father wouldn't wake and want to know what was so funny. Satisfaction, indeed!

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Henry stirred, Phryne pulled away from Jack and wiped her lipstick off his mouth. He ducked his head and took out his handkerchief to finish the job. Phryne took her lipstick and compact from her handbag and quickly repaired the damage.

"Mouth's as dry as a dead ..."

"Father!"

"Er, sorry, could do with a cuppa," he had the good grace to blush a little.

"Perhaps we should stretch our legs," Jack drew in a breath, "as far as the buffet car."

"Splendid idea, Jack," Phryne agreed, "I wouldn't mind a cup of tea, perhaps something to eat."

"Hm," he mused, "I know what you get back home, on the train ..."

"It'll fill a hole," she stood up, "father?"

"Right, yes, lovely idea," he stood and straightened his jacket.

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The tea was strong, almost stewed, but hot; the sandwiches, ham or egg, were solid and sustaining, and a little dry - as Phryne had observed - it would fill a hole. She hoped her mother hadn't got rid of Cookie, she would need a good dinner after travelling most of the day.

Jack had to admit, to himself, that he had become used to a certain standard of sustenance during the day, in the station, courtesy of Mr Butler and Dorothy, but perhaps he should be reminded, that they were not at his beck and call, that he may have to make use of the pie cart, occasionally.

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They returned to their compartment, via the facilities, and settled down to their reading material. Jack swapped his book for Henry's paper and Phryne settled back to her DH Lawrence.

"Looking forward to getting home, Lord Fisher?" Jack mused over the top of the newspaper, where he was reading the review from last night's revue at the Cambridge. The reviewer didn't seem to have seen the same show he and Phryne had seen.

"Hm?" Henry looked up from his book, "oh, yes. It'll be lovely to see Margaret, missed her."

Phryne raised an eyebrow, her mother was supposed to be the love of his life. She decided against making a comment - it would only descend into an argument.

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"Phryne," Jack murmured and tapped her knee, "we're here. Time to wakey wakey."

"Hm? Wha ...?" she blinked and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, why did she drool when she was asleep, it was so ... so inelegant.

"Somerton," he smiled, "time to go home, love."

Henry turned sharply as he heard the term of endearment. He knew they were close, but what about the understanding with Tockington?... he would never understand her. He shook his head and stood up, reaching for his suitcase.

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The rest of the luggage was unloaded from the guard's van.

"Hope she's sent the car," Henry grumbled. But he was disappointed. Phryne, however, was overjoyed and ran to the horse and cart.

"Joe!" she flung her arms round the horse's neck, who took the embrace in his stride. "God, are you still going?"

"Miss," the driver nodded, "old and slow, but still here."

"Hello, Toms," she grinned up at him, "you well?"

"All the better for seeing you, Miss Phryne," he tipped his hat.

"Charmer," she teased, "right, luggage, and then we shall squeeze in." She turned to her travelling companions, "Father! Jack!" she waved them over. The porter followed, dutifully, with the suitcases, and Phryne's trunk.

Henry sighed, and clambered aboard the cart, huffing about it.

"Toms," she indicated Jack, standing next to her, "this is Inspector Jack Robinson, a special friend of mine."

"Sir," Toms nodded, "glad to have you with us."

"Nice to meet you, Toms?"

"And you, sir," he grinned. "Right, Miss, up you get."

Phryne put her foot on the step and set herself in the cart, followed by Jack. Henry grimaced.

"Cheer up, father," she cried, gleefully, "you could walk behind?" She laughed, a joyful expression of her love of life. Her father set himself as comfortable as he could. He knew Margaret had sent the cart because Phryne would like it, not because she was welcoming her husband home. She had always indulged Phryne, especially after Janey ...

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Phryne pointed out places of interest to Jack, and trees she had climbed as they made their way through the village.

"That's the baker's," she pointed to a pretty little cottage like place, with gingham curtains at the window, "they used to do the most marvellous teacakes."

"Perhaps we'll get the chance to see if they still do," Jack suggested quietly.

She smiled and held on to his bicep, "do you ride, Jack?"

"Only bicycles, I'm afraid," he pursed his lips, he had a feeling that by the time he left England he would at least be able to stay on a horse.

"I'll find something old and slow for you," she wriggled closer, "perhaps we should saddle up Joe, I used to ride him."

He decided against arguing, it would do no good, he would bear it all with his customary fortitude.

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Toms took the cart up to the front of the house and Jack could at last see what Phryne meant about it being perfect as a hotel. It was a three storey Regency style building with a square portico set in the centre, leading to a strong oak door. As they stopped the door opened to reveal a woman, slim and elegant, immaculately dressed in a navy blue wool dress, mid calf length, nipped in at the waist with a narrow belt. The collar was long, the points reaching almost to the belt from the high round neck line. Her black hair, streaked with white, was drawn into an elegant chignon - undeniably Phryne's mother, Lady Margaret Fisher.

Jack helped her down from the cart and stood back as she went to greet her mother.

"Hello mother," she murmured before being enveloped in a warm hug, "I'm home."

"My dear daughter," Lady Margaret pulled back to look at her, "I have missed you. You look well, if a little tired and dusty."

"That can be fixed with a bath and a cocktail," she grinned back, "but ..." she released her hold on her mother and turned, "first ..." she beckoned Jack forward, "let me introduce Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, one of Victoria's finest."

Lady Margaret held out her hand and Jack bowed slightly over it, lifting it to kiss the back, "Lady Margaret," he murmured.

"Inspector Robinson, so nice to meet you at last," she smiled, "Phryne has told me so much about you," her voice was low and musical. She turned to her daughter and whispered, "you didn't tell me how gorgeous he is, darling."

"Hands off mother, he's mine" she muttered back.

"Margaret, my dear," Henry stepped forward, his arms outstretched to his wife, who gave him an icy glare and offered her cheek.

"Henry," she hummed. "Toms," she turned to the groom, "take Lord Henry's suitcase, and his lordship, to the Dower house," she turned back to her husband, "you'll find everything you need there, Henry. I shall see you in the drawing room for pre dinner cocktails."

"Margaret?" he gave her a quizzical look, she just glared back at him.

"Phryne," she put her hand between her shoulder blades, "Inspector, come on, I'll have Dawson take your things to your rooms, Phryne dear, the paintings have been put back, but I'll leave you to decide which ones to hang in your sitting room."

"Thank you, mother," she slipped her hand through her mother's arm on one side and Jack's on the other.

Henry stared after them, scratching his head with one hand and thumbing the brim of his hat with the other. He hadn't really believed it when Phryne had told him that the Dower House would be where he was to stay. Margaret had often threatened but never actually gone through with it.

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"Well," Jack mused as he surveyed the suite and the fact that the maid had put away all their clothes save for his dinner suit, "I think your father has had the rug pulled out from under his feet."

"Mm," she shrugged her jacket off and kicked off her shoes, sitting on the bed and patting the space beside her. "Sit, please," she tipped her head, "tell me what you saw."

"Your mother, is ... er ... sad, disappointed perhaps. I think she is relieved you are here, but not reliant on you."

"Really," she looked at him, "how do you work that out?"

"The way she greeted you," he closed his eyes and recalled the scene, "she is happy to see you but knows you won't be staying." He opened his eyes and looked at her, "will you?"

"No," she assured him, "I love her, of course I do, but home is Melbourne, Wardlow, and my odd little family there."

"Right," he went back to his musings, "she didn't find it difficult sending your father to the Dower house, she really is angry with him, a cold anger - is that usual?"

"Not what I remember," she took his hand and laced her fingers through his, "more, screaming matches, how he had taken some of the housekeeping to fund a card game, when we were in Collingwood. How she fed us sometimes I don't think I want to know."

"So, how do you want to handle things?"

"Shall we just see what happens at dinner, tomorrow we can talk about the estate."

"I shall follow your lead, Phryne, it's really nothing to do with me," he lifted her hand and kissed it. "Now, that train was not exactly clean, so ..."

"Through there," she pointed to a door set in an alcove, "my private bathroom."

"I'll start it running then, shall I?" he grinned wickedly.

"Alright," she nudged him with her shoulder, "wicked man."

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After a long, if not particularly restful bath, Phryne suggested he sit in her sitting room while she dressed.

"Not that I'm bothered, Jack," she smiled and walked her fingers up the buttons of his shirt, "but I don't want to scandalise the maid."

He kissed her forehead and said he would see if she had any books that wouldn't shock him.

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He was absorbed in a Hemmingway when Phryne glided through, a vision in black. Her dress appeared to be a strapless under-dress that hugged her slim shape over which was a heavily beaded sleeveless knee length dress that caused the under-dress to flare out to the ground, forming a short train at the back. He stood up quickly, almost dropping the book and took her outstretched hand.

"Exquisite," he breathed, "you look beautiful."

"Thank you, Jack," she smiled, "shall we?"

He offered her his arm and they headed down to cocktails in the drawing room.

"Jack," she pulled him back from the door, "about the idea, to turn the place into a hotel ..."

"I shall leave you to take the lead on that, love," he squeezed her hand, "it's none of my business, but if you need me, just nod."

"Thank you, I appreciate it, your support," she sighed, "he's not going to like it."

"He doesn't have to, it just has to work, or, from what you say, the other option is to sell and find a small house perhaps in the city."

"There is a house, that they use for 'the season' though not much, now," she shrugged, "I think the last time was when I was presented at court, parties, the whole works, god it was tiring."

"The season?" he questioned as she pushed open the drawing room door.

"When everything happens, Ascot, Henley ... I'll tell you about it, later," she preceded him into the drawing room, where a tray of cocktails, whisky and sherry were sitting on a small table next to a chaise longue.

"Evening, mother," Phryne smiled, "father not arrived yet?"

"I've just sent Toms for him, dear," Lady Fisher kissed her cheek, "Inspector," she nodded.

"Good evening, Lady Fisher," he nodded, politely, accepting the whisky Phryne passed to him.

"Now, Phryne," Lady Margaret sat down on the chaise and patted the seat for Phryne to sit next to her, Jack sat opposite, "tell me, before your father gets here, how did you get the paintings back?"

"I gave Hunter some advice on his love life and he chose one of the pictures, the unfinished sketch - the portrait, and he agreed to let me have the others back. He said he only bought them so they wouldn't be 'salivated over by old men who should know better'," Phryne sipped her cocktail and waited for the same reaction she got from her father, but:

"What advice, Phryne?" Margaret gave her a dark look.

"He was unsure about asking Enid to marry him, I told him he should ask because I knew she would accept ... and she did." Phryne sat back with a rather pleased look on her face, "I think father thinks I've agreed to marry him."

"Really, " Lady Fisher rolled her eyes in much the same way as her daughter did, Jack hid his smile in his glass, "he should have accepted by now that you are not the marrying kind."

"You know father," she smirked.

"What does she know, about me?" Henry entered the room in not too good a mood, it seemed to Jack, as he headed straight to the drinks and took a whisky.

"Nothing new, Henry," his wife mused, "we were just discussing Hunter's forthcoming marriage to Enid, Phryne's friend. I think it's wonderful. If I remember the girl correctly, she is just right for him, smart, knows her horses, made a killing last year at Ascot."

"You were there?" Phryne raised her eyebrows.

"Of course, dear, I was invited by Hunter," she frowned, "as I recall, you were away."

Henry looked like a landed codfish, as Dot would say, as he realised he had missed the races, being in Melbourne, annoying Phryne, and got completely the wrong end of the stick when she said she had come to an arrangement with Hunter.

"Ah, yes, of course," he drained his glass and looked for another one, but his search was interrupted by Dawson, the butler, announcing dinner was served.

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Jack escorted Lady Fisher into dinner, Henry offered his arm to Phryne, which she took with a smile, that made him think she had forgiven him, though he still couldn't work out why Jack was still with them, surely he had to get back to Melbourne?

Dinner was superb, much to Phryne's delight, after the railway lunch. They started with a shrimp cocktail that was light and sharp and that was followed by a warming game casserole, with mounds of creamed potatoes and green vegetables. Phryne was obviously delighted, Jack had an idea that her mother had requested certain dishes especially for her, he knew she was particularly fond of mashed potatoes. The game casserole was not something he had had before but he found its flavour deep and rich, the different meats added texture - he detected rabbit, pigeon and one he thought was beef but Phryne told him it was venison. It was served with a robust burgundy - a most satisfying course.

As they ate Margaret brought up the subject of the estate and how she could manage it for the future.

Jack looked at Phryne and waited for her to make a suggestion - that of turning it into a hotel. It was a radical idea, they had both agreed, changes would have to be made, the current staff would have to be retrained, if they wished to remain ...

"Well, mother, father," she savoured a mouthful of the casserole, "I have given it some thought, and, it is too big for two people, but ... it is in a lovely area, has beautiful grounds ... I think it would make a lovely hotel."

Henry blustered, "A hotel!" he took a large mouthful of his wine, "Phryne, really, this is our home!"

Margaret sighed, "Henry, we have nine bedrooms, a coach house and the Dower house, though that is occupied at the moment, carry on, darling," she turned to Phryne who swallowed another mouthful of her dinner.

"As you say, mother," she glared at her father who had opened his mouth to make another objection, "there are nine bedrooms, a nice intimate hotel, you and I could move to the coach house, there is plenty of room, though some work will need to be done ..."

"Quite, dear," Lady Fisher nodded, "the bathroom needs updating ..."

"Perhaps two suites, mother, one for you and one for me," she smiled.

"Costly ..." her mother mused.

"Yes, " Phryne nodded, "but not immediately necessary, is it? Anyway," she waved her fork, "it's a thought, and needs more consideration."

"There will be no consideration of any kind," Henry managed to get an angry word in, "we are not having any Tom, Dick or Harry staying in our home!"

"Father!"

"No!" he stood up and leant across the table, "never!"

Jack jumped.

"Henry, sit down," Margaret uttered a stern, but quiet command, "the estate needs to pay for itself, or we sell."

Henry sat down with a thud, a thundery expression on his face.

Jack had thought that Henry was actually going to strike his daughter and was ready to jump in, remembering her stories of how he treated her as a child. He was impressed she didn't react the way she could do, but she sat there with a look of childlike innocence on her lovely face.

"Now," Margaret hummed, "we shall discuss this properly in the morning, and, Inspector," she smiled at Jack, "I should like your thoughts, as an impartial observer."

"Well, Lady Fisher," Jack shifted in his seat, "I don't know, I mean, I know nothing about running a hotel ..."

"... but I expect you know what you like when you visit one," she tipped her head, "so, I would like you to be there, if you don't mind, that is?"

"No, of course not," he replied, hastily, "it's kind of you to invite me."

"Good," inwardly she as relieved. Phryne and Henry's arguments could get rather heated, and she thought that Jack would be just the right person to prevent any bloodshed.

Dawson chose that moment to remove the plates in readiness for dessert. Henry poured himself the last of the burgundy before the carafe could be taken away, Margaret huffed to herself, Jack felt Phryne's hand slip up his leg. He quickly covered it with his and smirked at her.

"Later," he whispered.

Lady Fisher caught the look and smiled to herself.


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner over, the dessert of pears poached in sauternes with cream was light and sweet, they adjourned to the drawing room for coffee and liqueurs. Jack noticed that Lord Fisher insisted Dawson leave the decanters, and poured himself generous measures. Phryne had said he drank rather a lot when she was a child and she often bore the brunt of his rage, he would keep an eye on him.

Henry was angry, seething about the very idea they should turn the family home into a hotel, a commercial venture. He swallowed a large measure of brandy and refilled the glass. He didn't want to have all and sundry wandering through his house - after all - an Englishman's home is his castle. Really, what did Phryne think she was doing, she would be in Australia, what did it matter to her, after all, unless she produced a son, in wedlock, the family would die out anyway?

Margaret sat with Phryne and Jack, chatting about this, that and the other, what Phryne was doing in Melbourne, she heard from her sister, rather too frequently, she thought.

"She seems to have worries about your lifestyle, dear," she smiled over her coffee cup, "this 'detecting', you do."

"I rather think I drive her round the bend, mother," Phryne laughed, "and she is still trying to marry me off to appropriate men."

"I do think she loves you though, Phryne," Jack put in, "she wouldn't care so much if she didn't."

"I know my sister has always regarded my daughter as rather a live wire, but so much more interesting to have around than Guy, and she was so lovely with Arthur," Margaret nodded, "that is one thing about Phryne, everyone is worth looking out for."

"Arthur was special, mother," Phryne's eyes filled with tears at the mention of her late cousin, "to me anyway. Guy could be perfectly horrid to him, not wanting him to attend the engagement party was despicable."

"I see them about, in town occasionally," Margaret sighed, "that girl, Isabella, is so flighty, nothing between her ears, at least you have a brain, Phryne dear. I'm sure Isabella wasted all the money her parents spent on her education. All I ask, with your detecting, is that you take care, please."

"I will do my best mother," Phryne touched her arm, "and I do have Jack with me, most of the time."

"How on earth do you cope, Inspector," Margaret laughed, "she must be a real thorn in your side, sometimes."

"Nonsense, Lady Fisher," he grinned, "Phryne often sees things I, as a mere male, don't. She gets away with doing things no police officer would, and there are some people who will open up to her, more than me or Collins." He declined to say how much she could frustrate him at times, preferring to focus on the positive side of their working partnership.

Phryne looked at him with almost adoration, her mother thought, somehow, her independent daughter had fallen in love with a good man, who understood her and didn't treat her as some decoration to hang on his arm. Phryne was surprised he didn't tell her mother she was reckless, which she knew she was, or that she indulged in a little breaking and entering, or entering at least, to get at the evidence in a case.

"Prudence tells me you carry a gun, Phryne, is that wise?"

"Only of you are on the wrong end of it, mother," she laughed.

"Only for emergencies, isn't it, Phryne," Jack reassured her, "but it has come in handy on the odd occasion." He thought the less Lady Fisher knew about it the better.

Henry harrumphed in the background, for no other reason than he was being ignored.

"Oh, are you still here, Henry," Margaret huffed, "I'll have Toms take you back to the Dower House, though you had better get used to the walk, it's not fair to keep him from his bed when he is up so early."

"Now, Margaret, dear," he slurred, "can't we talk about this, I mean, the Dower..."

"Perhaps in the morning," she rang the bell, "at the moment you are in no state to have a reasoned conversation with. We shall see you at breakfast."

Dawson entered the room and waited for his instructions.

"Dawson, would you ask Toms if he would kindly escort his lordship to the Dower House, please?"

"Madam," he bowed slightly and went to find the groom and Lord Henry's coat. The night was chilly and a light mist had settled over the grounds.

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Phryne felt sorry for Toms as he took the grumbling Baron away, but she was surprised her mother was so open about the state of her marriage in front of the staff.

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Henry shivered in the November night, Margaret was being so very unreasonable, he thought. True the Dower was very comfortable, there was even a little kitchen should he require tea or coffee, but she had neglected to provide him with any whisky. He would have to find a way back into her good books, somehow.

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After watching Henry be driven down the drive, Margaret decided she too would head to bed. She didn't like banning her husband from the house but he needed to know she was not going to put up with his shenanigans any longer. True she missed him in bed, and no one else had taken his place, but he was running the estate into the ground taking her and him with it. She loved him, she had always loved him, even when he had shown she may not have been enough for him, but she couldn't trust him, not now - well, not ever really.

She kissed her daughter's cheek and gave her hand to Jack, who bowed slightly and wished her pleasant dreams, then slowly made her way up the stairs. Phryne watched her go and squeezed Jack's hand. He put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a little hug. He too saw the sadness in Lady Fisher's eyes and hoped that by the time they left the couple could at least have come back together.

"I think I'll go and talk to her," Phryne leant her head on his shoulder, "I'll join you shortly."

"I think that's probably a good idea," he kissed the top of her head, "perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye."

"I'm sure there is," she sighed, "I know I don't know everything about their marriage, but I'm worried father has done something even worse than running up gambling debts."

He looked at her and understood, she thought her father hadn't been entirely faithful to his wife. "I'll still be awake, however long you take," he murmured, "if you want to talk, afterwards."

"Thank you, Jack, though why you would want to listen to my mother's woes ..."

"Because they become your woes, and you know what happens when you bottle things up ..."

She tiptoed up and kissed him, long and slow, then followed her mother up to her parent's room.

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Margaret was just finishing changing when Phryne knocked on the door and was admitted by the maid.

"Phryne," she paused in removing her make-up, "what can I do for you?"

Phryne went and sat on the bed and waited until her mother was settled and the maid had left, gathering up the laundry as she did so.

"Mother," she tipped her head to one side, "are you really going to make father stay in the Dower?" She realised it was a blunt question but it was the only one she had.

"Not forever, dear," her mother reached over and took her hand, "just long enough, and it gives me no pleasure, I assure you. At least if he's sleeping here I know where he is, and who he is with."

Phryne looked at her and immediately understood she didn't mean she was worried about him playing cards, this was more serious - Margaret was worried he was sharing his bed with another woman.

"Mother?" she asked, darkly.

"Oh well, I can't say you're too young, can I?" she gave a hollow laugh. "Your father has been a little lax in the promises he made all those years ago, his vows - shall we say he hasn't always kept himself for me."

Phryne looked down and blushed; she was a woman of the world, had had lovers, but the thought of one's parents engaging in 'bedroom activities' somehow seemed a rather uncomfortable one. She had never had two lovers at the same time, that was just wrong.

"Nothing has ever come of it, no little half siblings for you, dear, thankfully," she sighed, "at least we haven't had to pay off any maids here, or hotel chambermaids that he seems to be rather fond of, so far, anyway."

"Dear god, mother!" Phryne finally gasped, "I had no idea, I thought he just treated them to little gifts and champagne suppers, none of which he can afford. I never got the impression he was sleeping with them. I know it happens - but ... father?" she shook her head, sadly.

"Well, a pretty face can easily turn his head, I'm afraid," Margaret slipped down into the bed, "don't worry Phryne, this is just to bring him to heel. Now, off you go to that handsome Inspector of yours and we'll sort it out, between us."

Phryne leant over and kissed her mother's cheek, "sleep well, mother," she murmured.

"I will, darling, now he's home."

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She closed the door behind her and leant against it, anger growing at her mother's betrayal and the hurt in her eyes. Her thoughts turned to Jack. She had seen the hurt in her mother's eyes when she had admitted that Henry was not always faithful, and she vowed that she would never be the cause of that look in Jack, as long as she could, while they were in a relationship, she would be his alone. Not that she had ever thought otherwise, but now she was doubly determined.

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Jack was sitting in bed, reading, when she opened the door. He looked up and saw a very unhappy and angry Phryne. She closed the door, rather harder than she planned and the echo rang down the corridor. Stomping over to the bed she sat down with a dejected huff.

"Damn him," she seethed, "damn him to hell!"

Jack closed his book and set it aside, waiting ...

"How dare he?" she turned at the movement in the bed and a gentle touch to her hand.

"Phryne?" Jack's voice was soft and low as he pulled her over to fall against his chest. He didn't mind the scratch of the beading of her dress on his chest, he just held her close and waited. He could feel her heart thumping through the fabric, with anger, and her fist clench and un-clench, he braced himself for an onslaught, but it didn't come.

"Sorry," she sniffed, "it's all so horrible." She shifted her head so she was looking up at him, "mother said he had been unfaithful and she looked so hurt."

"I see," he hummed, "so ...?"

"Oh she'll let him back, when he's had time to realise she's no push over," she pushed herself up and noticed the little marks on his skin, "I'd better get out of this dress, or you'll look like you've been attacked by a wild animal."

"I'm sure we can hide the evidence," he grinned, with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

She batted his chest and rose to go into the bathroom and attend to her needs. As she saw to family planning it occurred to her that one of the reasons her father may be so cavalier with the estate was that he was the last in the line, and, unless she, the only remaining progeny, produced a male child the estate would be passed back to the crown to be assigned to another family. She sighed, perhaps she should put her needs aside and think about the family line.

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"You've been thinking," Jack teased as she slipped into bed beside him, "is that wise at this time of night?"

"Oh Jack," she sighed and cuddled into him, "what do I do?"

"About?"

"This whole thing, father and mother, the estate ... I mean is it worth it?" she looked up at him, "when father dies the line dies too, no male heir you see, so, as far as I know it goes back to the crown."

"Does it bother you?" she had never expressed a view, to him, on the value of the aristocracy, "that your father is the last of the line?"

"I've never even thought of it, to be perfectly honest," she shrugged, "but it seems even more of a waste of life that so many died so that father could inherit the title, and then after he goes ... the only way it can continue is if I produce a male child, in wedlock, and you know how I feel about parenthood."

"And even if you did have a child there is no guarantee it would be a boy, is there?" he pointed out.

"God! No! Imagine me surrounded by several daughters before a boy comes along," she shuddered. She studiously avoided babies and small children, anything over the age of ten or twelve years was alright, but it was getting through those first years that was the problem.

Jack couldn't keep the smile off his handsome features as he visualised a dozen mini-Phryne's in the parlour at Wardlow, in fact he started to laugh.

"Hey! it's not funny," she batted his bare chest.

"Phryne, darling," he sniffed, "it's hilarious. I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh ..."

"No, you shouldn't," she pouted, "anyway, who would marry me and be father to my children, eh?"

A strange silence fell on the room, as Jack would say later,' you could have heard a pin drop.'

He would, in a heartbeat, even knowing she was not the marrying kind and he had already failed at marriage once.

She turned to him, slowly, and held his gaze for what seemed like hours.

"Then," she hummed, "supposing I can't get pregnant? What then?"

He shrugged, "the practice could be fun, and if it works, we could get married then. Conceived out of wedlock, born in ... just a thought."

"It seems a bit cold, to hang on to a title and an estate, though, doesn't it?"

"... and I don't have a good track record, on the marriage front. It might have been me that couldn't have children, though Rosie ... maybe she didn't sleep with Sydney, or maybe she took precautions, like you."

"Oh, Jack," she sighed again, "I'd be a dreadful mother ..."

"You could hire a nanny," he suggested.

"We're talking ourselves into it, aren't we?"

"Tell you what," he shifted to look at her, "how about we see if you can get pregnant, that's not going to be hard ..."

"I'm rather hoping it is," she smirked.

"Behave," he laughed.

"I thought we weren't going to," she laughed back moving up to kiss him.

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"Well," she murmured, "that wasn't a bad start but," she pushed off him, "the device had better go, it certainly won't help, will it?"

"Before you do, are you sure? Are we sure?"

"Not really, but if I stop and think anymore about it, I will go off the idea altogether." She went into the bathroom and threw caution to the wind ... or put it back in its little box, anyway.

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Their love-making was every bit as sensuous as it had been from the start but Phryne had to admit she felt different about it. Not bad different, just different. Jack kissed her everywhere, slowly and thoroughly, trailed his fingers down between her breasts, down her stomach to the top of her curls then round the back of her thighs and tickled the back of her knees. She hummed into his mouth and moved beneath him raising her knees either side of his hips. He brought his hand round to between her legs and gently began to touch her, feel her wet folds, dip in and out of her with one, then two fingers. She gulped his name and took hold of his hardness, feeling it twitch in her hand as she positioned him at her entrance. Looking into her eyes he saw a deep, dark desire and he entered her setting up a rhythm, driving deep into her until she gasped his name, lifting her hips to meet him, encouraged him to increase his speed, digging her nails into his back as her release burst over her like a wave in a stormy sea. He grinned and grunted as he followed her almost immediately. She held him there until his arms started to shake and as he collapsed to the side of her she cuddled in to him.

"Hmm ..." she sighed, "I do like practising with you."

He kissed the top of her head, "best not say anything to your parents, not yet," he nibbled her ear.

"No," she whispered, sleepily.

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The next morning Margaret decided they should have a proper talk about using the estate as a hotel or some way it could generate an income. She had lain in bed thinking on what Phryne had suggested, and had come to the conclusion that it was a good idea. The coach house would make a good suite for herself and her daughter when she was home; which would be rare, she knew; and of course Henry would be by her side, where she could keep an eye on him. Perhaps he could be useful, welcoming the guests, taking those gentlemen who should so wish on a pheasant shoot during the season. The gamekeeper had suggested once or twice when they did have guests that pheasant shooting had been an activity when he was a lad. Henry wasn't a bad shot, and the river was good for trout fishing ...

They had enough staff to see to any guests. Dawson would be excellent ensuring the housemaids and under-butler, who doubled as 'Boots', served the meals politely and quietly. They had an excellent cook, who was not used to the full extent of her capabilities. Indeed she had mused occasionally that she missed the big dinner parties they had thrown when newly come to England and their new status in life.

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Toms brought his lordship up from the Dower, for breakfast and the discussion. He was rather quiet, Jack thought, as he tucked into kedgeree, toast and tea. Phryne sauntered into the breakfast room, perfectly attired for a day in the country in a straight tweed skirt and silk blouse, elegant and smart. He stood up as she entered and pulled out a chair for her.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he murmured into her ear, "hungry?"

She smirked and nodded as he poured her some strong black coffee, "rather, would you ...?" she waved at the food set out on the side.

"Bacon and eggs?"

She nodded over the rim of her cup, he had learned not to expect too much in the way of conversation before she had had at least one cup of coffee. He placed a plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms in front of her and let her tuck in while he buttered a piece of toast and added a thick coating of homemade orange marmalade. Any guests that would stay here would certainly be well fed.

Henry watched the interaction between the two - obviously lovers. He wished he could understand her better, perhaps if she'd been a boy ... she was always headstrong and now she wanted to turn the place into some sort of attraction. She'd be building her own Luna Park next.

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The atmosphere was tense in the Drawing Room. Henry huffed and puffed as Phryne pointed out that the Coach House was only accessible by its own door, there was no connecting door to the main house. It had adequate rooms to make a suite for her parents . She would quite like the use of the Dower as and when she came to visit.

"I thought you were going to have a suite in the Coach House, dear," Margaret looked puzzled.

"I've given it a bit of thought, and I think the Dower for me, mother," Phryne smiled sweetly. It had two bedrooms and if she did have a child, which she was still wondering whether or not it was a good idea, though it was probably a bit late now, there would be a bedroom for it away from the influence of his, she must remember it was supposed to be a boy, grandfather. "Though I will join you for meals, if that's alright."

"And you Inspector, will we see you visit with Phryne?" Margaret asked in all innocence.

"If I'm invited," he smiled.

"Of course you're invited," Phryne scoffed, "every time."

"Well, thank you, Miss Fisher," he teased, "I shall certainly give it my full consideration."

"Good," she nodded firmly.

"What are these people supposed to do while they are here?" Henry grunted.

"Fishing," Phryne tipped her head to one side, "shooting, Gordon said he could raise pheasant, maybe grouse, for August."

"Hm ..." he began to think, perhaps warm to the idea.

"I haven't seen any of the grounds," Jack put in, "except on the way to the house, what else could a visitor see?"

"Shall we go for a ride, Jack?" there was a cheeky glint in Phryne's eye, he had left himself wide open to learn to ride a horse.

"Er, ok," he coughed, "I don't suppose I could commandeer a bike, could I?"

"No, horses only," she grinned.

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Joe was the perfect mount for Jack, gentle and easy going, he plodded along, too old to break into a startled gallop. Phryne had taken a more spirited horse, but she was in total control, all her lessons from Enid came back, though she rode next to Jack, pointing out the best places to shoot from and the best fishing spots.

"The grounds are lovely, Phryne," he smiled, "I imagine in the summer it is vibrant, lush, but, empty. Do you think, maybe; and this is a potential visitor speaking; there could be something to wander around, a maze perhaps, more cultivated gardens ..."

It was a vast expanse of green, she had to admit, it did need breaking up.

"Jack," she sighed, "I'm city bred, but, you could be right. While some may want to shoot others may not want to, so, I suppose the gardener might be able to help. Thank you, for your insight."

He bowed a little bow and smiled, "your servant ma'am," he teased.

She laughed, "you can serve me later, Inspector," she reached over, "any way you like," she winked.

"As you wish, my lady," he continued the banter.

"Oh, I do," she leaned over far enough to kiss him lightly.

"Phryne," he hummed, "has anybody done this before, turned their estate into a hotel?"

"I have no idea," she shrugged, "but many have lost them due to squandering their finances, or poor investment."

"So, there's always a first time," he looked over the land, "what 's that?" he pointed into the distance.

"That's a little folly," she smiled, "like a small castle, but no earthly use, except for picnics in the rain."

"So, what did you use it for, if you climbed trees I bet you found a use for it?"

"Sneaky cigarettes, usually, or just to get out of the way of father," she pouted, "how about I ask cook if we can have a picnic tomorrow and ride out that far?"

"Sounds like a lovely idea, though it will be cold, won't it?"

"Blankets, we can't light a fire, no chimney, the fireplace is purely ornamental." She grinned, "come on, let's get back for lunch."

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Margaret had asked Dawson to gather the staff for a meeting in the Drawing Room after lunch. She was going to tell them of the possible changes to their work and the way the estate was run, but at the same time she wanted to ensure they understood that they would still have positions, should they wish to stay. In the current economic climate, Phryne had told her, leaving would not be in their best interests.

They were asked to sit, which they did so, nervously, and fiddled with apron edges and handkerchiefs.

Margaret insisted Henry stand with her to tell them their lives would change, soon, but first she told them how much she valued their work, that they carried out their duties to the highest standard.

"... and so," she smiled, "we are hoping you will help us, work with us to make the estate a force for good, a new way forward in these times of change. We want to show people that the aristocracy are not so far removed from the natural order of things. Mrs Hope," she turned to the cook, "your talents are somewhat underused at the moment, I'm sure you will be up to the challenge of preparing meals to the highest standard, I know you will, just like the dinners of old. We think that shooting and fishing weekends will be popular in the season, Gordon, you said you could raise pheasant here, well, now's your chance ..."

"Madam," the gamekeeper grinned, "it will be a pleasure."

That set the rest of them off, nodding and suggesting ideas for special events;

"Perhaps, your ladyship," one of the housemaids dared to speak up, "weddings. We have a lovely church in the village we could do the receptions."

"A lovely idea, Ella," Margaret smiled.

Ella bobbed a little curtsey and blushed.

The staff left the room with renewed hope. They had all noticed the Baroness make subtle economies in recent times.

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On the way back from their ride Jack had had an idea but first he needed to work out the logistics. He asked Dawson for some paper and pencils and took himself off to Phryne's sitting room, telling her he needed some time alone.

"Jack?" she drew the question out.

"Just give me an hour," he kissed her cheek, "nothing to worry about, just a little thought I want to expand on, before we dismiss it out of hand or take it to your mother."

"Just mother?"

"Well, Henry as well, it's just that she has a more logical brain, I suppose it's where you get yours from." He grinned and headed up the stairs, armed with the tools Dawson had found for him.

Phryne was curious but mindful of the new status of their relationship she decided she would go and see Mrs Hope and arrange for the picnic for the following day.

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"Well, miss," she bobbed, "it's not going to be warm there, so ... shall I add a flask of soup?"

"Lovely," Miss Fisher smiled, "I have missed your cooking, Mrs Hope," she perched on the edge of the table, "though Mr Butler is very good," she added. In fact she felt they were on a par with each other, but it always helped to smooth the way with compliments.

"I've missed you too, Miss Phryne," the cook smiled, placing a cup of hot chocolate next to her, "now, would you like a piece of shortbread with that?"

Phryne slipped into a chair and sipped the thick, sweet liquid. It was just how she liked it and Mr B would be hard pressed to equal it. The shortbread was sweet and crumbly, sprinkled with sugar and run through with tiny pieces of apple.

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Jack sat in the sitting room surveying his little sketch. In the middle of the page was a representation of the folly, a square with the word 'FOLLY' neatly printed in the centre. From that ranged lines in the style of a maze. Arrows showed where the entrances would be and red lines showed the ways through, indicating it was possible to find one's way to the folly where he was going to suggest there was a prize. He had made notes as to what should be planted to make the hedges and the height they should be grown to - he thought around four to five feet. Deciding it was what he wanted to show Phryne and Lady Fisher, he stood up and straightened his waistcoat, before heading down to find them.

Passing one of the housemaids in the hall he asked the whereabouts of his lady love and was told she was in the kitchen, "just down that passage," she pointed.

"Thank you ... er?"

"Martha, sir," she supplied her name.

"Thank you, Martha," he smiled and left her wondering about him and Miss Phryne.

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Phryne was sitting at the table, still, watching Mrs Hope mix warm cream and raspberry puree into a posset. She was 'testing' the mix and the sight of her with one finger in her mouth was one of the most erotic things he could ever wish to view in a kitchen.

"Jack!" she jumped up, "come and try this, Champagne and raspberry posset for dinner."

Mrs Hope handed him a teaspoon full of the mixture and he dutifully sampled it. It was sweet and sharp, soft and thick, "delicious," he murmured.

Phryne grinned and wrapped her hands round his bicep, "now, darling Inspector," she looked into his eyes for some idea of what he had been up to, "what is this secret you have been keeping from me?"

"Just this," he placed the drawing down on the table, "I wondered if it would be possible to grow a maze which has the folly at the centre - then a prize could be awarded to those that find their way there."

Phryne traced a finger along the red lines and her smile grew broader, "Jack it's a wonderful idea!" she squeezed his arm, "however did you think of it?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "it seemed like people would need a goal, something to encourage them to try the puzzle."

"You could always put a picnic in there, if someone requested the use of it for some special occasion," Mrs Hope kept on stirring the concoction.

"That's a very good idea, Mrs Hope," Phryne agreed.

"Oh I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn," she flushed and bit her lip. It wasn't her place to tell the young mistress how to run her home or potential enterprise.

"You didn't," Phryne tipped her head, "we want you all to give ideas, you are all part of this adventure, aren't they, Jack?"

"They are indeed, and, let's be honest," he hoped it was alright to point out, "they will be doing a lot of the work; cooking, cleaning rooms and changing beds, serving at table ..."

"Quite true, Jack, quite true," she nodded. "Now, let's go and find mother," she turned to the cook who had recovered her composure, "thank you for the drink and biscuit, Mrs Hope."

"You are most welcome, Miss Phryne," Mrs Hope smiled, she remembered the times Phryne had spent right there, as a schoolgirl come home for the weekend or the holidays.

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Margaret sent for the gardener and showed him Jack's idea.

"It'll have to be planted in the spring, mum," he scratched his head, "and I shall have to get part grown hedging, privet'll be best, I think."

"It will be fine if it's a bit low to start with," she mused, "you could trim it into a nice shape, couldn't you?"

"Yes, mum," he nodded, looking at the plan, it reminded him of an Elizabethan knot garden, "clean edges I think, that should work."

"I shall leave you to plan it out, Stevens."

He left, still looking at the plan and formulating in his mind how he could lay it out. It wasn't an overcomplicated design, but it was very formal and symmetrical in design. Yes, he thought to himself, that would break up the vast expanse of green.

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The picnic at the folly the next day gave Jack and Phryne time to be together and alone, away from prying eyes and knowing looks. Phryne had asked someone to put blankets and cushions inside it and it was rather snug. He saw sconces on the wall that had oil lights lit which added to the little light that came through the holes that would have served as windows. Glass would be a good idea, thought Jack, as they also let the draught through. Around the walls stone steps had been set in that passed the 'windows' Jack remarked that they would give a good view over the maze.

"Perhaps those that make it first could shout instructions," Phryne called up; there wasn't room for more than one person at the top; while she unpacked the feast Mrs Hope had packed. There was fresh baked crusty bread to go with the soup, a rich, thick vegetable concoction that would be poured into wide breakfast cups, still warm sausage rolls, apples, cheese and fruit cake. Sustaining and warming for a chilly November day.

They snuggled under the blankets and fed each other soup soaked bread, pieces of the sausage rolls and Phryne discovered Jack had a knack for breaking open an apple without needing a knife, though one was provided.

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The feast over they packed everything away to be taken back to the house and snuggled together under the blankets like two little runaways. Jack put his arm around her and pulled her close, kissing the side of her head and wriggling just a little further down.

"I hope it will work," she murmured, more to herself that him.

"What, love?"

"All this, the house, mother and father ... us."

"Honestly, Phryne," he sighed, "I don't know; I'm hoping that at least one thing will work and that's us." He felt her wriggle against him, "we are so very different people but I do believe we want the same things, in many ways, justice for those that deserve it, safety for those that need it, love for those that want it. When we eventually go back to Melbourne I want it to be together, side by side."

She rolled to lie looking at him, her arm on his chest, her leg thrown over his. He moved his hands round to the buttons on her warm riding jacket and undid them, sliding his hands inside he felt the warmth of her body and her ribs flex in time with her breathing. They started to kiss, deep and slow, tongues dancing over each other and hands undoing buttons. Their jackets were discarded and their shirts opened, Jack's hand cupped her breast and felt the rise of her nipple, a hard bud against his palm.

She moaned into his mouth and moved against him, feeling his hardness strain the buttons of his riding breeches.

"Wait," he mumbled and dived down under the blanket. She felt his hands unlace her boots and push them off then his hand slide up her legs and start to undo her breeches. As he pulled those down he kissed her through her knickers. She used her feet to remove the trousers completely and sighed as his fingers moved the undergarments out of the way and he started to move one finger over her folds, already wet. He grinned against her stomach, kissed it and blew gently over it. She writhed and gasped, and as he moved up to her breasts, nudging her camisole out of the way she could just reach the waistband of his breeches. As she unfastened them he pushed her knickers down and she brought her legs up to wriggle free. HIs fingers were inside her, moving in time to her groans and hips tipping to him. She pushed his trousers and shorts away to free his hardness. He moved over her and let her feel him, hold him and guide him until he was at her entrance. He moved slowly into her, pulled out and then moved back setting a slow rhythm, rocking deep into her, filling her as she rose to meet him. She put her heels on his back and urged him on, gasping her pleas for more, for him to go faster.

"Oh god, Jack," she arched, "please, yes, harder ..."

He was happy to oblige and moved more quickly, harder into her until she tightened round him and called his name as he spilled his seed inside her on his final thrust.

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"Thank you for the picnic," Phryne put the basket on the kitchen table, "perfect as always, Mrs Hope."

The cook looked up and smiled, Miss Phryne, she noticed, was a little untidy, her hair was definitely not as neat as it usually was, but the Inspector was very handsome.

"You're welcome, Miss," she murmured, "I'm glad it was satisfactory."

"It most certainly was. Now, after that ride I think I'll go and bathe," she turned and sauntered out of the kitchen, a decided lightness to her step.

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Their days were filled with organising the house and arranging the cleaning of the Coach House. Henry got caught up in the fervour and found he could talk to Stevens about the garden and Gordon about pheasants and fishing. He became animated at dinner and drank less, and Margaret let him come home, properly.

He sat in Drawing Room with her one evening, Phryne and Jack had retired for the night, and he felt he could talk to her.

"Thank you, dear," he started, not really knowing what to say, "and I'm sorry."

"Henry ..."

He held his hand up, "wait, I know I disappoint you, often, I haven't been a good husband or father to Phryne, and I can't pretend I will be much better, but I will try. I didn't like the idea of strangers trampling over our home all in the effort to keep the estate going but I can see it might work. I'm prepared to give it a try, at least I can leave a house to Phryne even if I can't leave the title to her."

"There's time yet, for that, Henry," Margaret smiled a little smile. "She and Jack ..."

"Much as she loves him, well on her terms," Henry pursed his lips, "I can't see her marrying him, or producing a grandson to inherit the title."

"I think there's more to them than meets the eye," Margaret reached over and took his hand, "they seem to be more than lovers, they think in the same way, want the same things and can come together over their differences. As to you, Henry, dear, I know it is unlikely you will change that much but I married you for better or worse, and though I did go as far as a separation perhaps I will be able to set that aside. It's up to you Henry."

"Yes, dear," he mumbled and lifted her hand to kiss it. A reprieve, if nothing else crept out from the woodwork.

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A/N: 'Mum' is the way Stevens would say 'ma'am' and not an allusion to his possible relationship to Margaret.


	9. Chapter 9

Phryne knew there would come a time when Jack had to go back to Melbourne, and she dreaded it. They had moved out to the Dower House only heading back to the main house to discuss the changes or for dinners. Days were now spent overseeing work or exploring the village on horseback. Jack was a good enough rider, now, to have something a little more lively than Joe and they had ridden out as far as a neighbouring village where they had lunch at a small pub. It was while they were out one day that they were stopped by a Detective Sergeant from London; according to the warrant card he held. He was looking for Baron Fisher of Richmond and Phryne's heart sank.

Jack dismounted and introduced himself, explaining the reason for his presence in the country.

"Ah, yes, heard about it," DS Sullivan nodded, "well, I have to talk to him ..."

"May we ask what about?" Phryne dismounted to stand next to Jack, "Phryne Fisher," she offered her hand.

"Well, Miss," he scratched his head, he wasn't sure he should be discussing such matters in the street, "perhaps when I see him ..."

"I'm his daughter," she huffed, "you can talk to me."

"The snug should be quiet at this time of day," Jack suggested, looking over at the pub, "maybe ..."

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The publican grunted when he was asked to provide tea, of all things.

"Stop moaning, Ted," his wife elbowed him, "if they want tea, tea they shall have," and she turned to go into the kitchen and prepare the beverage.

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"So," Jack leant on the table, "what has Henry done?"

"Well," Sullivan took a long drink of his tea, practically emptying the cup in one swallow, "he has been accused of not honouring a deal, over some paintings."

Phryne frowned, surely there weren't more paintings he had tried to sell.

"Let me see," Jack put his hand on her arm when she looked like she was about to speak, "he showed them at a club, said they were for sale then didn't sell them."

"That's about it, in a nutshell," Sullivan grunted, "how do you know?"

"Were these paintings of a woman, nudes and semi nudes?"

"Er ... I believe so," Sullivan pushed his hat back, the one he should have removed in the presence of a lady, an act that irked Jack; even grubbiest of street urchins removed their caps in the presence of a lady, not just Miss Fisher.

"Did he take any money?" Phryne leapt in, before Jack could stop her, though it was his next question.

"Cheques, left at the club to be exchanged for the paintings."

"Odd way to do business," Jack observed, "not like Henry, at all."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, I need to speak to him," Sullivan squirmed in his seat.

Jack didn't like him, but he couldn't stop him going to the house, nor could Phryne. He gave him directions and watched him leave. Phryne was angry and confused.

"Jack!" she glared at him, "you know this case is sorted, Tocky took the paintings, Sullivan has nothing."

"I know, love ..." he held her gaze, "wait." He heard the door close, "right, off we go," he dropped some coins on the table and shouted his thanks through to the bar, "if we go across country we'll beat him to the house."

"That's why you gave him the long route," she relaxed.

"Bit slow today, Miss Fisher," he teased, allowing her to precede him out of the pub to their horses, tied up by a trough.

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They did indeed arrive before Sullivan and instead of stopping at the Dower to change out of their riding clothes rode straight up to the main house.

"Dawson," Phryne dismounted, "would you mind asking Toms to collect the horses, please," she slipped her hand through the crook of Jack's arm, "is my father about?"

"He's in the Drawing Room with the Baroness, Miss," he nodded, "shall I send some coffee or tea in?"

"Not just yet, thank you," she wasn't going to offer the Detective Sergeant that hospitality. As they had rode she had wondered about him. He didn't seem like he knew what he was doing, and if these were the same paintings that Hunter had bought, then there was no case to answer. Very strange, indeed.

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Sullivan stepped out of the car and looked up at the portico. "Bloody Aussies, taking our places," he muttered, before shaking himself and going to alert the residents to his presence.

Inside, in the Drawing Room, Phryne had instantly questioned her father about any other paintings he had tried to sell, or offer at the club in exchange for cheques to be left.

"Absolutely not!" he huffed, "the only ones were those that Tockington bought, I promise you, Phryne, Margaret," he looked from one woman to the other, "I only took those. And there is no way I would ask for cheques to be left for collection, pah!"

"Lord Fisher," Jack stepped forward, "was there anyone else interested, very interested, in the paintings, perhaps someone who bid against Lord Tockington?"

"Er ..." he thought, "only Ribblesdown, you remember him, I refused to let him court you, Phryne, thought he was an oily little oik. His family made their money selling god knows what, always a bit shifty ... but he couldn't match Hunter for the deal."

Phryne shivered, she did indeed remember Ribblesdown, his hands were clammy, when he danced with her at a social occasion, and cold. If she knew he would be attending a function she wore a dress that covered her from neck to ankle, back and front, and had long sleeves. It would be glamorous and alluring, but would protect her from his touch.

"You don't suppose he's up to something, do you?" Jack asked, "perhaps trying to get back at you for stopping him ... with Phryne."

"Shifty enough," Henry grunted.

"Where I come from they call it wasting police time and can be prosecuted for it," Jack folded his arms, "let me handle this."

"Oh, Jack," Margaret sighed, "would you? I remember him positively leering at Phryne and asking if there were any more at home, like her."

Henry took her hand and squeezed it, "that was uncalled for," he gave a derisory sniff, "and hurtful."

"I told him there were half a dozen," she smirked, "and all were spoken for."

"Mother!"

"Margaret!"

"Blimey!"

"My lady," Dawson interrupted the stunned air, "a Detective Sergeant Sullivan to see you."

"Show him in," Lady Fisher sat in her favourite chair, upright, and stern.

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Sullivan entered, again without removing his hat. Phryne hid her smirk behind her hand when Dawson slyly swept it off his head and apologised for his carelessness.

"I'll put it on the stand, in the hall, sir," he grunted with a barely concealed sneer. He now understood why Miss Phryne had refused the tea and coffee.

"So, Detective Inspector," Margaret's disdain for him was barely concealed, "what can we do for you?"

"It's about some paintings your husband offered for sale, ma'am," he shoved his hands in his pocket, "apparently he hasn't honoured the deal."

"Actually," Henry stepped in, pulling himself up to his full height he almost loomed over the much smaller man, "I did ... with Lord Tockington. No one else bid as high."

"Lord Ribblesdown says otherwise," Sullivan looked up at him, sneering.

"Ah, Ribblesdown," Henry nodded, "he came nowhere near. Gone to the police to complain has he, let's see, three months after the sale ... what does he want?"

"Yes," Jack stood up, "it seems a rather long time he has taken to say anything."

"We've been trying to find this man," Sullivan nodded his head towards Henry, "for some time."

Jack was having none of this, Sullivan was rude and disrespectful, not just to Henry, but to Lady Fisher, Phryne and the title Henry held.

"What station are you attached to?" he snapped.

"What's it got to do with you?"

"I am senior to you," Jack started ...

"You're way out of your jurisdiction."

"... at the invitation of the Metropolitan Police, Detective Sergeant," Jack continued, "this case is closed, has been for several weeks, what station are you attached to, I ask again?"

"Er, Bow Street," he grunted.

Jack left the room, closing the door firmly.

Phryne stood with her arms folded, knowing exactly what Jack was doing, and glared at Sullivan. Was he really a copper? She was ready to hold him in that room until Jack came back, sure he was about to make a run for it, but the only way out was through one of the long windows. They were closed, it was cold outside and her mother had ordered the fire be lit. She knew the catch on one of the windows stuck, there was a knack to opening it, she could only hope that he chose that as his escape route.

Sullivan, for his part, wondered how he could bluff his way out of this. He had assumed it would be easy to take Henry for all he had, Ribblesdown said he was a pompous idiot full of, in his words, 'piss and wind'.

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"We could make something out of him," Ribblesdown told his younger brother, "I'll never forgive him for the way he treated me over his daughter. I could have had his title, on his death, and the best looking wench in London. Jumped up Aussie interloper."

Sullivan, as a member of the police force, thought he could help his brother and told him so, which is how they came to hatch a plan to discredit Henry, more than he already was. The idea was to make a case out of Henry not honouring a deal, the evidence would be a cheque made out to Henry and left at the club. This cheque, in an envelope, would be collected by Sullivan, as evidence, and used to make a case against Henry. Unfortunately, for them, they had not banked on a Detective Inspector from Melbourne, Australia being drawn into the real case and with him the Baron's lovely daughter.

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Jack returned to the room and shut the door behind him with a decisive thump.

"Detective Sergeant Sullivan," he growled, "younger brother of Lord Richard Sullivan, Baron of Ribblesdown ..."

Sullivan gulped.

"I have just spoken to your senior officer, Detective Inspector Hornby, he was wondering where you had hopped off to, in his words. Apparently you were confined to a desk for some untoward work practices which could bring the force into disrepute." He raised his eyebrows and waited for an answer.

"Do tell, Inspector," Phryne opened her eyes wide, "what on earth could this person be up to."

"It would appear, Miss Fisher," he mused, "that Sullivan here, has been syphoning off money from the Bow Street Runners Fund. A fund set up, many years ago to help young lads stay off the streets, lads that had the poorest of homes and could not afford an education."

"Named after Sherlock Holmes' boys, I presume," Phryne smiled.

"You presume correctly," Jack nodded, "it's a well loved and respected charity and for an officer of the law to dip into the funds for his own needs is reprehensible."

Henry was livid, he knew what it was like to have little to eat and a cold and damp home, and this ... this ... lowlife was taking food out of children's mouths. He walked up to him and glowered down on him.

"Now, Lord Fisher," Jack stepped closer, "Hornby has asked that I take him back to his station to be severely disciplined, traffic duty I should think, at the very least, possibly dismissed from the force. But first," he turned to the unfortunate little man, cowering in front of Henry, "what are you and your brother up to?"

Sullivan, a not particularly brave man, gave in and told them all that he and his brother were up to, and why.

"So," Phryne gritted her teeth, "you think that just because my father inherited the title after all English born men had been killed in the Boer War you had a right to take it. Yes, it's true, father is Australian born, and proud of it, but he is still a Fisher, related to the Richmond Fishers, and, at least he gained the title after men had died honourably, whereas, if I remember my history correctly, it is not how your family retained the title. Your father ran screaming from the battlefield and was shot as a coward, that 's how your brother came to be Baron of Ribblesdown." She paused and thought a moment, "and, when I was on a shooting party and passed a dead pheasant to him, with its head blown off, he fainted." She tossed her head in scorn.

Sullivan paled and swallowed, there was no way out of the room.

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As it was imperative Sullivan be got back to Bow Street as soon as possible, Dawson was asked to ascertain the time of the next available train, book a suite at a hotel for the Inspector and Miss Phryne and keep watch over the disgraced police officer. Jack used Sullivan's own handcuffs to chain him to the newel post of the staircase, just in case.

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The journey back to London was uncomfortable, for Sullivan. Fortunately for Phryne and Jack they managed to catch the connection to the express, so the chances of him leaping from the train were minimalized, but two hours of almost complete silence chewed at Phryne's mind. They had thought of stowing their 'prisoner' in the guard's van, but then thought better of it and he sat with them in a first class compartment.

As soon as they deposited him at Bow Street and after a quick work with his Inspector they headed off to the hotel Dawson had booked for them.

"God," Phryne slumped into the couch, "that was the worst journey I have ever had to endure."

"Me too," he agreed, sitting next to her and taking her hand, "I shall make it up to you, somehow ..." there was a wicked twinkle in his eye.

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Two hours later, when Jack had 'made it up' to Phryne he rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand, smiling down at her. She was pink and glowing, and grinning up at him.

"Well, Inspector," she smirked, "what do you do for an encore?"

"An encore, Miss Fisher?" he raised an eyebrow, "well ..." he slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Phryne pouted until she heard the bath water run into the tub and her favourite perfume drift out on the steamy air. This was going to be fun, she hoped.

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Jack sat behind her in the bath and slowly wiped soft soap over her. She rolled her head as he drew the sponge across her shoulders, lay back on him as he took it over her breasts and stomach and sighed as he relinquished it and used his hands to wash between her legs and through the curls at the apex of her thighs. She felt his hardness against her lower back and hummed as he lifted her up and onto him and they rocked slowly, almost luxuriously until the rhythm increased and he pushed up into her, while touching the cluster of nerves until she arched her back in release and he spilled his seed into her.

"Oh ... my ... god!" she gasped, "Jack!"

"Hello, Phryne," he muttered against the nape of her neck, "am I forgiven, yet."

Phryne didn't think she could actually take anymore of his 'making up', for now so just grunted a 'uh uh'.

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They ordered Lunch in the suite, light bites of sandwiches and salads, quiches and little pork pies, fruit and little custard tarts, water and fruit juice.

"Is there anything you would like to do, this afternoon, Jack?" Phryne asked, wiping a crumb of pastry off the corner of his mouth.

"Perhaps a walk," he kissed the finger, "I have a mind to explore the jewellers."

"The jewellers, why so?"

"Well, I know we aren't going to get married unless you conceive," he reached over and took her left hand, "but I thought, if you'd like to, we could get engaged. It might stop anyone make untoward advances to you ..." he looked for anything in her face that might tell him he was on the right track, or the opposite. "... and so, you need a ring."

'Poor lamb,' she thought, 'he looks terrified.'

"I do, don't I?" she smiled slowly, "a ring would be nice, and, if I never conceive ..."

"I'd like us to stay together, at least," he looked at her small hand in his, "even if we don't get married, love."

"So would I," she leant forward and kissed him.

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Since before he had had his divorce finalised, Jack had put a little aside for a rainy day. That 'rainy day' had arrived, and even though he knew Phryne could afford very expensive jewellery and other men could shower her with shiny things, what he bought her had to mean something. He had researched birthstones in particular and though there were various schools of thought on the subject her rather liked the idea of tanzanite, a vivid blue, if he could find it, though it could vary.

The wandered arm in arm past jeweller's shops, gazing in the windows, pointing out various rings to each other until finally Jack spotted what he was looking for. It was tucked in the corner of the window, not quite unloved but a little lonely looking. He pulled her inside the shop and made her stand by the door while he had a whispered conversation with the owner.

Phryne watched him with intrigue, as he pointed and murmured and the jeweller nodded and smiled, then reached into the window and pulled the cushion forward.

It was an oblong cut tanzanite with five diamonds at each end set in little petal shapes. The setting was waisted where the yellow gold of the ring merged into the setting. Phryne's hands, though small, could take the shape, Jack thought and he beckoned her forward. He covered the stones with his hand as he slipped it onto her finger to check the fit, which was perfect, he noted, then uncovered it and waited.

Phryne had been thinking he would choose a fairly safe solitaire diamond, or three stone ring, but this ... this was most unusual, completely different to anything she could have imagined.

She swallowed, and looked at him, tears in her eyes, "it's beautiful, Oh Jack," she breathed, "I love it."

"Your birthstone, Phryne," he smiled, letting out a breath he had been holding, "I thought, maybe ... well, it had to mean more, for me, anyway ..." he was more nervous about this than anything, getting the ring right, something she would be surprised at and was different to the ring he had given Rosie, a small diamond ring, all his meagre wages at the time could stretch to.

"So," he smiled, "I take it this is the one, then?"

She hummed her agreement, "please, darling."

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The following day, with the ring firmly on her finger, she said it would stay there, and she didn't care who saw it, they headed back to Bow Street station to see what was going to be done about Sullivan.

Inspector Hornby had been unsure as to what he should do with Sullivan over night. Should he bang him up in the cells or send him home? On balance, he decided that, as the cells were just about empty, he could sleep on the premises, at least they would know where to find him. A senior sergeant had been dispatched to collect his brother from the family seat and they would be dealt with together. Sullivan, Hornby huffed to Detective Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher, was on his way out. "We can't have that kind of behaviour in the force, it will make us a laughing stock."

"Quite," Phryne agreed, "and his brother?"

"Well, it amounts to fraud, Miss," he pushed the cheque over, that Ribblesdown had written to be used as evidence, "and, we were wondering if you could tell us anything about the date on the cheque."

She read it and a small smile spread over her lovely face.

"What is it, Miss Fisher?" Jack murmured, "what has amused you?"

"The date," she grinned, "father was with me, in Melbourne, in fact he had just arrived, remember?"

"I do indeed," he laughed, he had not been able to see her for their usual post case whisky that night, or any night that week. "You'd have thought he would have at least got his facts right."

"So, the paintings couldn't have been on display then?" Hornby asked, retrieving the document.

"No," Phryne shook her head, "in fact, if you want to know the real date I suggest you contact Lord Tockington. He actually bought them that evening," she opened her handbag, "here's his number."

Hornby shook his head sadly, and dialled Hunter Tockington. He very simply asked if Lord Tockington could kindly confirm the date he bought some paintings from Henry Fisher, and did he remember Baron Ribblesdown bidding against him?

In his study Hunter nodded, "I do remember, Ribblesdown bid very low," he hummed, "in fact he didn't bid anywhere near the value. It was on ... let me see..." he leafed through his diary, "ah, yes, July sixteenth, this year. I say, Miss Fisher isn't in any bother is she?"

"No," Hornby smiled on his end of the line, "not at all, Ribblesdown has claimed that Lord Fisher has cheated him out of the paintings. Anyway, that's all I needed to know, thank you, your Lordship."

"Happy to help," Tockington smiled and replaced the receiver.

"Seems you were right, Miss Fisher, Inspector," Hornby nodded, "not that I doubted it," he added, hurriedly. "Lord Tockington gave the date as three weeks before the date on the cheque."

Phryne shrugged, "now what?"

"Ribbledown is on his way from his estate," Hornby tapped the desk with his pen, "we should be able to tie this up very quickly."

"I do hope so," she sighed, "it really is most disturbing. I was hoping to be going back to Australia, before Christmas. We are cutting it fine if we are to find a passage in time."

"Of course, it's quite a long trip, I believe."

"Nearly a month," she admitted. "What time to you expect Ribblesdown?"

"Round about one-ish," he checked his watch, "half an hour."

"So, when do you want us?" Jack moved forward.

"I think you have time for lunch," Hornby smiled.

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Baron Ribblesdown had huffed and puffed, and snipped and bickered with the police officer sent to escort him to London. He had taken an inordinate amount of time dressing before appearing ready for travel to the capital. He had mused on the request, what had his brother done? It was his idea to frame Henry Fisher for fraud, and the scheme was sound, or so he thought. The mention of Miss Phryne Fisher had got his hopes up. Perhaps she had relented and was prepared to accept his offer, after all, she wasn't getting any younger and if either family line was to be preserved she would have to marry and produce at least one son; two would be better - an heir and a spare but one would be Baron Ribblesdown and Fisher of Richmond and Lancaster. A rather long title but impressive he thought.

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"Miss Fisher to see you, Inspector," the young constable from the front desk poked his nose into the interview room.

Hornby looked up and nodded then turned back to Ribblesdown, who was stuttering and stammering around the date on the cheque, though he still stuck to his story that Henry had cheated him out of the artworks.

"Yes, quite, my lord," he put his hand up to silence the stuttering aristocrat, "but I think Miss Fisher can shed a little light on the subject," he turned back to the constable, "would you ask her to step in, please, Constable."

Hornby stood as the lady in question entered, Ribblesdown looked up and quickly pushed his seat backwards to stand. She got lovelier, he thought.

"Miss Fisher," Hornby pulled out a chair, "so kind of you to join us, I know you have other things you would prefer to be doing ..."

"Inspector," she nodded and sat down, "Richard," she nodded in his direction and offered her, gloved, hand for him to shake, which he did, rather limply.

"Miss Fisher," Hornby opened the file in front of him, "could you please confirm the date your father arrived at your house in Melbourne, Australia, for me?"

"Of course, Inspector," she smiled, "it was the eighteenth of August, I remember because it was Dorothy's sister's birthday and she had the day to go and see her."

"Dorothy?" Hornby raised his eyebrow while Ribblesdown looked from one to the other.

"My companion, a perfectly sweet girl," Phryne nodded.

Hornby pushed the cheque over to Ribblesdown and asked if he recognised it. Of course the baffled Baron couldn't deny it was his, or that he had written it because his brother had already identified it. He nodded mournfully.

"So," Hornby sighed, "why did you do this, attempt to frame Lord Fisher for fraud?"

"He ... he was dishonourable, he shouldn't be holding an English title," Ribblesdown sniffed, "and he refused to allow me to court his daughter, here."

"Slighted," Phryne removed her gloves allowing eyes to fall on the ring on her left hand. "You do know I am perfectly able to make my mind up about who I marry or not, as the case may be, don't you? I am not some chattel to be bargained with."

Hornby looked at Ribblesdown and then back at Miss Fisher and, in his mind, she had got the better deal by choosing Detective Inspector Robinson, who, he felt, had a great deal more of the honourable gentleman about him than the weak and insipid 'streak of damp' (as his dear departed mother would say) in front of him.

"Well, waste of police time," he huffed, "all because you feel hard done by. We have better things to do with our time than sort out petty, schoolboy squabbles between your set, Sir," he added the last with a bit of bite, "you will be charged, probably get off with a fine ..."

"I think my father deserves an apology," Phryne crossed her legs showing just enough to rile the embarrassed aristocrat, "a public one."

"Hmm ..." Hornby tried not to smirk, "well, it will be all over the papers, Miss Fisher. Now," he fished in the file and pulled out a statement she had written previously, "if you would sign this, with a bit of luck you will be able to catch a voyage back to Melbourne, as you said you wished to do, before Christmas."

"Lovely," she read down the sheet and signed with her usual flourish.

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"Are you sure you won't stay until after Christmas, Phryne, dear?" her mother sat on the couch in her private sitting room, "it would be lovely for us all to be together, for a change."

"Jack needs to get back, mother," Phryne sat next to her and took her hands, "and I miss my little family, disjointed as it may be ..."

"I know they are good friends, sweetheart, but they are in your employ," Margaret sighed, "you are not beholden to them."

Phryne smiled, "I know ..." but she couldn't tell her mother she needed to be with Jack, for many reasons, one of which being she thought the 'practice' they had been putting in may have paid off, and if it had, it was Mac she wanted to look after her, "... why don't you come over to see me, in the new year," she suggested, "in the spring, you know how much you love that time of year?"

"Your spring or ours?" Margaret laughed.

"You could have two in one year," her daughter laughed back, "seriously, mother, do come over, you haven't seen Wardlow yet, or Jane ..."

"Very well," Lady Fisher heaved a sad sigh, "we shall see, I should love to come over; do I bring you father?" she raised her eyebrows and grinned.

"Only if he's behaved himself," Phryne laughed.

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"With favourable seas we should be home for your birthday, darling," Jack noted as he put his clothes in the wardrobe in their stateroom.

They had waved at her parents from the deck then, as the ship pulled out of port, found their luxurious cabin and started to settle in.

"That would be rather nice," she smiled and set the last of her cosmetics on the dressing table, "but just a small gathering, I think, so we can catch up."

"Perfect," he gathered her into his arms, "now, how to we while away the hours until we get home ..?"


	10. Chapter 10

The voyage started out fairly smoothly. Phryne and Jack, initially, found it rather strange that they were not having to ensure her father was behaving himself. Phryne kept expecting him to appear round a corner, swinging his cane and asking for a little cash for a card game.

"I hope he doesn't start on mother," she sighed, wrapping a thick coat round her shoulders.

"I don't think she will be a push over, though," he pulled her close, "the Dower House is unoccupied, at the moment." He kissed the top of her head, "shall we go inside, it's a bit ... shall we say ... bracing, out here."

"I could do with warming up," she smirked, "any suggestions?"

He just winked and allowed her to precede him towards their stateroom.

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He woke up to an empty bed. It was most unlike Phryne to rise before him so it was a little worrying, especially as he couldn't see her anywhere else. He sat up and rubbed his eyes and listened. He cocked his head, and listened. There was a small sound coming from the bathroom, or so it seemed, a cough, a groan then the sound of the toilet flushing. He waited. He didn't want to embarrass her if she was unwell, it was a little rough, now. They were skirting the Bay of Biscay which was known to be a little choppy, though he didn't think she was the type to suffer from mal de mer.

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In the bathroom she pushed herself up from the kneeling position in front of the toilet and looked in the mirror. The contrast between the black of her hair and the pallor of her skin was almost frightening. She was as white as a sheet and there were little beads of sweat on her forehead. Phryne rinsed her mouth out with cooling water and cleaned her teeth, wiped her face with a flannel and groaned, again. She had never been seasick before so perhaps it was that time, again. But ... when did she last ...? She thought back, when she was on her way out to England, since then ... she'd missed! She was absolutely sure she had missed a cycle ... so ... not seasickness? She straightened her back and sighed, Jack would have to know what she suspected, had even wondered before they set sail, because if she was going to be ill ...

She dry-heaved and swallowed another mouthful of water.

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Jack looked up as she opened the bathroom door and his mouth dropped open. She looked so pale, so fragile, and was using the door jamb to hold herself up. He leapt out of bed and was beside her in an instant.

Phryne didn't usually like being cosseted when she was ill but she felt so dreadfully weak that she accepted his gentle hold as he guided her back to the bed.

"Sweetheart," he breathed, "what's wrong?"

"Sorry, Jack," she tried a small smile, "I think we may need to find a registrar. I'm never seasick, not even in the worst storms ..."

"Oh," he hummed, "Oh, yes," he brightened, "goodness me, that was quick."

"It only takes once, Jack, darling," she smiled a little more, "but we don't have to stop 'misbehaving', not yet, or at all, I believe."

"Can I get you something?" he pushed all thoughts of intimacy away for a moment, more concerned about her wellbeing, "tea?"

"Um," she settled back into the bed, "I don't know, I could do with something ... I'm empty, not surprisingly."

"Right," he stood up, "will you be alright, while I go and see what I can rustle up?"

"I'll probably just doze a bit," she smiled, "it was a bit of a rude awakening."

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Concerned that Phryne was more than suffering from morning sickness and seasickness, Jack headed for the infirmary. As he walked, lurching occasionally from one side of the walkway to the other as a swell hit the ship, he mused on how he could phrase his question. He couldn't refer to Phryne as his wife, because she wasn't, or his friend, because she was a heck of a lot more than that, so, by the time he reached the door he decided to refer to her by name - Phryne - and refer to the problem as seasickness. He knocked and entered when called to do so. A pleasant looking nurse was sitting at a desk reading a magazine. Business was slow, he surmised.

"Hello," she smiled, "how can I help you?"

"Erm, Phryne, that is, Miss Fisher, seems to have seasickness," he felt the colour rise in his cheeks, "I was wondering if there was something that would help her."

"She must keep her fluid levels up, plenty of water," she put the magazine down, "ginger's quite good, settles the tummy, perhaps some weak tea - anything she feels she can keep down, really."

"Oh, right ..." he scratched his head.

"Try asking a steward for tea and ginger biscuits," she linked her fingers on the desk, "they usually have a never ending supply," she gave a little laugh, "it's nothing to worry about, unless she can't keep anything down, then it's a drip to keep her hydrated."

Jack didn't think Phryne would be happy about that, at all, so thanked her and went in search of a steward to place his order.

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Phryne had dozed but her dozing had been fitful. Was she doing the right thing? She didn't actually like babies, they seemed to be red and noisy, if Mary's was anything to go by, though he was growing into a little person and her aunt doted on him. Jack had suggested a nanny, so some things would be taken care of for her - and what if she was careless, lost it when she was out, got distracted like she did with Janey. She started to cry. Thoughts of Janey brought tears flooding down her cheeks, something that had not happened since they had found her and had her remains interred in the family vault. It was how Jack found her, when he returned having placed an order for tea and ginger biscuits with a passing steward - sobbing into her pillow.

"Oh Phryne," he sighed, sitting on the bed and lifting her up so she could cry into his shoulder, "what on earth is the matter?" He didn't think being sick was something she would break her heart over.

"I don't know," she gulped, "I started wondering if we are doing the right thing, and then Janey and what if I did the same again ... Jack ... I'm scared, I've never felt this way before ..."

"We'll be fine, love," he soothed, stroking his hand over her head and down her back, "you aren't alone in this, and you won't lose him."

"How can you be so sure?" she sniffed and looked up into his eyes, soft and full of love.

"Because I know you, Phryne," he kissed the tip of her nose, "because you have made that mistake and you won't again."

"I don't trust myself."

"I trust you," he held her close, "I love you, Phryne Fisher, and I won't let any harm come to you or our child."

The steward chose that moment to bring the tea and biscuits so any more talk about her inability to parent ended, for the time being.

After she had drunk some tea, nibbled a couple of biscuits, she felt a bit better.

"Sorry, Jack," she mumbled.

"For what?" he raised his eyebrows, "you couldn't help being sick."

"Not that, for being such a wet blanket," she reached over and took his hand, "I don't usually deal in self pity, not these days."

"I believe it is allowed, even expected, that you be a little more emotional than usual," he smiled gently, "being pregnant, I hear it comes with the territory."

"And you know this, how?" she huffed.

"I have a sister, she wept all the way through her first," he tipped his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh lor'!" her eyebrows shot up, "please god I'm not that bad."

"Well, I'm sure you won't be, as long as you stop worrying about how bad, or otherwise, a mother you will be. Try imagining the looks on your parents' faces when you tell them they are to be grandparents."

She looked up at the ceiling and thought, then smiled and then laughed at her imaginings. Her mother would shake her head in disbelief even though she seemed to know how she and Jack felt about each other, but her father's face would be a picture, one of horror and amazement.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you," she nodded, "I think I'll have a bath, perhaps a wander on deck would be nice, the sea seems to have calmed down."

"No deep thinking," he warned as she wrapped her robe round her and headed to the bathroom.

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Not every morning started as badly. For the most part Phryne just felt a little off colour but after tea and ginger biscuits, a bath and reassurance from Jack that everything would be alright, she would be ready to face the day. The fresh air on deck helped and if she was careful what she ate she was happy to play deck quoits or swim in the pool.

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She lay, naked, staring up at the ceiling while Jack trailed his fingers over her stomach.

"Do you think we can get away with marrying when we get home, before I start to show?" she wriggled under his hands. They had just made love, though she had said she was a little tired and wanted a nap, but that nap had turned into something else and now she was wide awake.

"I'm sure Dorothy can come up with a dress that draws the eye away from your stomach, or Madame Fleuri, perhaps," he didn't like being asked about her clothes, or if what she wore was to his taste. Whatever she wore was beautiful on her, but he'd give it his best shot.

"I think Dot is my best bet, Madame Fleuri likes a little more time," she shifted and turned on her side, "by the time she has designed, fitted and finished a gown it shall be rather obvious."

He supposed that even for Phryne an obvious 'baby bump' would be a step too far, and Mrs Stanley, well she would blame him and there would be an almighty row.

"So, you are waiting until we are legally wed until you announce the increase in the population?" he let his eyes roam upwards to her breasts then her face.

"I think that's best, don't you?" she nodded and yawned.

"That, my darling," he pulled her over to him, "is something I shall leave entirely in your court." But by the time he had finished the sentence she was fast asleep, which pleased him, it meant she was becoming accepting and happy with the situation they now found themselves in.

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A shriek went up in the salon, puncturing the piano recital like a pistol shot. Heads shot round to the back of the room where a young woman was standing, shaking and staring down at the passenger next to her, slumped over in his seat.

Jack leapt up and made his way along the rows of patrons, excusing himself as he bumped people or even trod on toes.

"Detective Inspector Robinson, Victoria State Police," he waved his warrant card, "what appears to be the trouble?"

"He ... he ... he's dead!" the girl stuttered and gulped, her hand going to her mouth in realisation of what she had just said.

Jack checked his pulse while Phryne, who had followed him more elegantly, took the young lady aside and helped her into a chair out of sight of the corpse. She saw Jack shake his head and look at his watch, no doubt noting the time of death. He lifted the edge of the jacket to see if there was any form of identification on him, then in the trouser pockets, but he found nothing.

He looked round and saw a small glass that appeared to have rolled under the chair. He picked it up with his handkerchief and sniffed the inside. Almonds ... hm ... could be a liqueur or, the only other thing he could think of was cyanide. What was it now? 'Bitter almonds, run and hide, that's the smell of cyanide.' Amaretto was made of almonds, a good way to hide the poison, if, indeed he was poisoned.

There didn't appear to be an injury, there had been no sound of gunshot, the man was simply dead.

The captain appeared by his side and asked what was happening. Jack introduced himself and they shook hands.

"I expect you have people on board to deal with this," Jack handed him the glass, still wrapped in his handkerchief, "I think this may be the instrument of his death, cyanide, hidden in Amaretto."

"You seem to be most capable, Inspector," Captain Wilson mused, "I do have security on board but they are just able to lock miscreants in the brig, not investigate a murder. Would you ...?"

Jack thought for a moment, it would take Phryne's mind off the pregnancy, she may even forget to be sick, he nodded.

"Alright, my fiancée will assist, if you don't mind," he held his hand out to Phryne who patted the shocked woman on the shoulder and stepped over to him.

"Jack?"

"Captain Wilson would like me to investigate this case, I expect you would like to be involved," he raised an eyebrow but otherwise his expression remained quite impassive.

"You know if I can help, Jack," she smiled at the Captain, "I will."

"Captain Wilson, my fiancée, The Honourable Phryne Fisher," he watched him take her hand and bow over it.

"Charmed," he muttered, surprised on both counts; that an Australian Detective Inspector would have a titled English lady for a fiancée and that she seemed to be perfectly happy around murder victims.

"Miss Fisher is a Lady Detective, back home in Melbourne," Jack explained.

"Aah," he looked up at her, "I see," he stammered.

"Perhaps, Inspector," Phryne turned to Jack, "we should move this unfortunate chap to the hospital, or morgue, if you have one," she turned back to the Captain.

"We do have the facility to store a couple of bodies," he agreed, "never had to use 'em, but with it being a long voyage ..."

"Quite," Phryne nodded.

"And will your doctor be able to perform an autopsy?"

"I suppose so, he can perform surgery so I expect he can."

"Good," Jack hummed, "and I need to speak to everybody here, find out if anybody knows him, perhaps locate his cabin ..."

"Of course, anything you need, I'll be happy to see you get it, doesn't look good, you know, Inspector," the Captain sighed, "to have a murder on board a cruise ship."

"I understand," Jack nodded, "perhaps you would like to address those here."

Captain Wilson went to stand by the piano, all eyes turned towards him and the muttering stopped.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he grunted and turned to the pianist, "and Mr Heatley, it would appear we have a problem, not insurmountable if we all answer the questions from Inspector Robinson here. One of our number has passed away and we need to know if anyone knows him or his family."

Jack strode to the front with Phryne, "I will need everyone's name and cabin number, please and the reason for your voyage." He turned to Wilson, "paper, please, a note pad or just some sheets ..."

Wilson raised his hand and a steward came scurrying over. After a brief whisper the steward scurried off again.

"Miss Fisher acts as a consultant to the Melbourne police and she will be assisting me in this investigation, so if any of the ladies would prefer to speak to her I'm sure she will be happy to listen," he smiled, hoping she would understand what he was trying to do.

"Absolutely, Inspector," she stepped to his side, "it would be my pleasure."

He tried not to sigh too audibly that she had caught his drift but she was standing close enough that the audience did not see her trail her hand over his backside and gently squeeze. He kept his face straight, just ... this was one of those times when he preferred Hugh to be assisting him - he didn't go in for squeezing his boss' bum!

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There was a general disgruntled air among some of the passengers. Those that thought it was beneath them to answer the questions were difficult and obtuse. Any that were of the titled class Jack passed on to Phryne who put them in their places politely but firmly - mentioning her connection to certain high level police officers in London and, if that didn't work, to member of the House of Lords who may be a little grumpy at them bringing their social class to the notice of a police officer investigating a murder.

"You see," she tapped her pencil against her teeth, "Inspector Robinson always gets his man and he hates to be given the run around. Now, you are travelling because?..."

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They repaired to their stateroom where the captain had ordered light refreshments to be sent. They had had dinner, before the recital, but it was now very late and he thought they would need something as they went through the passenger statements.

"I can't see anything in these statements," Phryne swallowed a mouthful of tea, "they were all just listening to the recital, all on their way home or to visit friends or relations. Nobody seems to have known him, or even seen him before."

"It's a big ship," Jack sat back on the chaise longue, "easy to go unnoticed ... would you have noticed him, Phryne, would you have singled him out in a crowd?"

She thought back to the man, blonde hair, no skin blemishes - that she remembered - nothing special about his features ...

"I don't think I would," she admitted.

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They gave up trying to make sense of what was going on in the early hours. Phryne was yawning and Jack was blinking and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let's see what the doctor has to say in the morning, I mean later," he suggested, leading her to the bed, "with clear heads. We also need to find out who he was."

"Perhaps the stewards will know, we didn't speak to them," she stood while he undid the clips of her dress then shimmied it to the floor.

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Captain Wilson had much the same idea, about the stewards, and before the two detectives were finished breakfast he had had them go to the sick bay, take a look at the body then report back to him.

"Nobody," he sighed, "I can't believe not one of the stewards recognised him." Jack and Phryne had been to see the doctor and he had confirmed it was cyanide poisoning.

"He was a bit well dressed for a stowaway," Jack observed, "Phryne?"

"His dinner suit was well cut, but not expensive," she joined the conversation, "his hands were well manicured and the pomade on his hair was from the upper end of the range. If he wasn't in the first class staterooms, he may have been in one of the second class cabins."

"So how do we find out?" Captain Wilson leant forward in his chair.

"Can you have everyone go back to their cabins?" Phryne gazed upwards, thinking, "then, have the stewards go round each and everyone, check they are all occupied."

"We can cross some off," he thought this was a good idea, "not all cabins are occupied."

"Really?" Jack sat up, "well, how about we start with those?"

"Empty ones, Jack?" Phryne shot a look at him then smiled, "of course, perhaps not all of them were 'empty'."

"The only way that could happen would be if one of the stewards had snuck someone on board. They have keys to all cabins and staterooms," Wilson nodded. "Here," he pulled the passenger list out of the desk drawer, "let's have a look."

They made a note of all the unoccupied cabins, there were ten or so, and discussed how they should go about.

"Could we have a steward each?" Jack asked.

"Divide and conquer, Inspector?" Phryne purred.

Wilson wondered how close their relationship was, and under pretence of checking for more unoccupied cabins, found out. No matter, she wore an engagement ring, perhaps they were off to get married in Australia, it was not for him to police his passenger's morals.

"Exactly, Miss Fisher," Jack nodded, "Captain?"

"Sound good to me," he pushed the list away, and sent for three stewards.

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It took all of the morning and the best part of the afternoon to search ten cabins and one stateroom. They paused for lunch, in the Captain's cabin, and discussed their findings, so far - nothing.

"Well, Captain," Phryne blinked, obviously tired, obvious to Jack, that is, "all the cabins I looked at, and searched, were completely devoid of any human, or non-human, habitation. No sign at all."

"Same here," Jack passed her a cup of, happily, strong coffee, "how many do we have left?"

"Four," Captain Wilson looked at his list, "the stateroom, on your deck, and three second class."

"Right," Jack pursed his lips, then continued, "why don't Miss Fisher and I search the stateroom and one of the second class cabins and you and a steward do two others. We'll convene in ours in a couple of hours, yes?"

"Perfect," Phryne swallowed the last of the coffee. She knew what Jack intended. The second class cabin first, then the stateroom, and with a bit of luck she might be able to get a short nap in before they met up again.

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Jack didn't know if it was luck, or fate or the wishes of some higher being, but the second class cabin they looked at was the one they wanted. It had been used, the bed was rumpled, there were gentlemen's toiletries on the nightstand, and a book by the lamp. In the wardrobe Jack found two day suits, three shirts, white, two ties, and a pair of brown brogues, size seven. In the chest Phryne found underwear and socks. She checked the laundry labels and found each one had a different name.

"Jack," she looked over at him, examining one of the suits, checking the pockets for identification, "Jack, check the laundry labels."

"What?" he turned, "oh right." He remembered writing his name and cabin number in his clothes as Phryne did for hers, so they could make use of the ship board laundry. "Hey, they're different, each one. This," he held up a shirt, "labelled Harmon, Cbn 2-9," that's level two cabin nine, right?"

"Right," she agreed, "and these," she help up a singlet, "Grossman Cbn 2-4."

"Well, I'll be blowed," he whistled, "Robinson Strm 1-8, I didn't know I was missing a shirt."

"Cheeky sod," she hummed, "but it gets us nowhere with the identification."

"Stewards, then?" he suggested, "laundry staff?"

"Precisely, but," she yawned, "can we leave it until we have met the Captain, I'd like a little nap."

"I know," he took the shirt and went over to her, "I'll take my shirt back, you bring that singlet."

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With Phryne settled in her slip underneath the blanket, Jack sat writing up his notes and possible explanations as to why the mystery man had other people's clothing and was bunking in an 'unoccupied' cabin. Was he on the run? If so, why? Was it that he just couldn't afford any fare and had preyed on the soft heart of a steward? Further searching of the cabin had revealed nothing, no wallet, passport or driving licence to give identity to the man. It was most frustrating, without his identity how were they to find his murderer, or was it suicide? He sighed and scratched his head. Oh for Constable Collins!

He closed his eyes and subsequently dozed off, still wondering what the heck was going on.

A sharp rap on the door made him jump and Phryne sit up, half asleep, which, she discovered rather abruptly, was not a good idea. She retched, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jack's first thought was for her. He was at the bedside before the second rap and supported her to the bathroom.

"You ok?" he worried.

"Uh huh," she mumbled, "just need to ..."

"Yes, of course," he understood immediately, "I'll forestall them."

"Thanks," she knelt in front of the toilet and voided to contents of her stomach.

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With the bathroom door closed and the bed swiftly tidied, Jack felt he could invite the guests in, which he was sure was the Captain and his stewards.

He was right.

Wilson bustled in followed by two stewards, he looked harried, was turning his cap round in his hands.

"Inspector, oh thank goodness, you're here," he gasped, "really, it's too much, I don't understand ..."

"Sit down, Captain," Jack guided the overwrought man to a chair and poured him a large whisky, which he gulped down without thinking, "now, tell me what's going on."

"What's going on? I have no idea," he held out the glass for a refill, "all I know is there is another body in one of the cabins."

"Another one?" Jack scratched his head and gaped, "well, this just gets stranger."

Captain Wilson just nodded.

"Right," Jack turned to the steward, "could you organise some tea and biscuits, please, then we shall get down to business."

As the steward nodded and headed to the door Jack caught his arm, "ginger biscuits, please," he whispered, "Miss Fisher ..."

"Of course, Sir."

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In the bathroom Phryne set about composing herself. She rinsed her mouth out and cleaned her teeth. Her make-up needed repairing, but she could hear the Captain in the stateroom. She thought, and decided that she could quickly grab enough to make herself presentable and sneak it back into the bathroom.

The captain was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice her slip out of the bathroom and back again, the swish of her black satin robe and the flash of colours on the embroidery on the back, did not attract his attention, though the steward noticed.

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Wilson looked up as Phryne made her much understated entrance, in full make-up and the dress Jack had left over the dressing table stool.

"Ah, Miss Fisher," he stood up, "well, I don't know if you heard ..?"

"No, have you found something?" she sat down and gave him one of her most disarming smiles.

"Another body," Jack touched her shoulder, "in one of the other cabins that was supposed to be unoccupied."

"Another one," her voice rose a pitch, "do we know him?"

"We've sent his body to the doc," the steward entered, with the tray of tea and biscuits, "but no sign of any ID."

"Check the laundry labels," the Captain suggested.

"Unlikely," Jack held up his shirt and the singlet Phryne and he had found in the cabin they had searched, "it looks like the first chap helped himself to some of the passengers' clothing, my shirt and a singlet belonging to a ..." he re-read the mark, "Mr Grossman, Cbn 2-4."

"Well, I'll be ..." Wilson ran his hand through his red hair, making it stand on end, "I suppose we need to interview the laundry folk, now?"

"What's the betting they will say there are always mix-ups," Phryne mumbled through a ginger biscuit, "there is always that chance, but surely the garments would easily be re-acquainted with their owners."

"Well, if Mr Grossman's singlet had ended up with my things I would have popped along to his cabin and handed it over," Jack agreed.

"Yes, well you're an honourable man, Inspector," Miss Fisher grinned.

"So kind of you to say so, Miss Fisher," he laughed back.

"Is the second body as ... nondescript as the first?" Phryne asked, "I only ask, because the first man had no distinguishing facial features, he wouldn't have stood out in a crowd."

"Well, I, er ..."

"Shall I take a look?" she smiled, "as a woman, perhaps I could tell you if I would have noticed him in a crowd, it certainly wouldn't the first one. I'm sure he was a perfectly nice young man, but ..."

"Why don't you do that while I go down to the laundry?" Jack suggested, thinking the steam and heat might be a little much for her in her current 'delicate' condition.

"First rate idea, Inspector," she nodded, "then we can swap notes afterwards."

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Phryne stood and looked down at the head. Mouse brown hair this time, no facial hair, no moles or distinguishing marks, square-ish jaw, aquiline nose straight brows, she might have noticed him, there was more strength to his face than the other man. She hadn't seen him around the pool or the quoits, she was sure of that, not in the dining rooms either. He was taller and broader than the first man, who, she had murmured to Jack, would get blown over in a strong wind.

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In the laundry Jack was having better luck. The launderers, the pressers seemed to be working overtime and he had to talk to them while they worked. The sketches one of the stewards had done were good enough to use for the purposes of identifying the men in the sick bay fridges.

"Sorry mate," a presser folded, with amazing dexterity, a dress shirt and put it on a pile, "we work shifts see. But it could be the next shift, there was a lot not done overnight., means we're behind hand."

It was the same story throughout the rooms, they had more to do because somebody had not pulled their weight the night before, and the shirts and chemises were piling up.

However, he was beginning to form a picture of who the men were, but, sadly, not why they had been killed, for he was sure it was murder and not suicide.

He headed to the Captain's cabin to obtain a list of laundry staff, particularly those who worked the night shift, then down to where they would be resting, and, as they shared a large bunkroom it should be easy to find who was missing, should be, but wasn't.

He did a roll call, which was greeted with groans and moans and "give it a rest mate, we're sleeping!"

Everybody was there.

He took a deep breath and headed back to the stateroom for a large whisky and a sit down.

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He found his love languishing in a warm and sensuously perfumed bath and her invitation to join her was rapidly accepted. Bathing together and discussing a case had become a no-no, so he contented himself, and it had to be said, her, in lovingly massaging her back and then her front and all points in between before making love to her deeply and thoroughly.

"Mmm..." she sighed, lying over his chest, "hello, Jack."

"Hello, Miss Fisher," he bent forward and kissed the top of her head, "feeling better?"

"Much," she lifted her head and smiled, "very much so."

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Wrapped in their robes and sipping hot chocolate they perused his notes and her observations.

"I still think it is a launderer," she nestled against him, "access to clothing, access to cabins ...hang on," she pushed herself up, "what about the laundry stewards, the ones who actually collect and deliver the laundry? Could it be one of them?"

"I suppose so, but why are the night shift not keeping up with the load? According to the shift that's on now, they had left a lot undone, as it were."

"Laziness?"

"I think I'll get Captain Wilson to do a crew roll call in the morning," he sighed, "it's not as if they can escape, we're not docking anywhere for another two, three days, are we?"

"No."

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But it wasn't that simple, Captain Wilson had no missing crew.


	11. Chapter 11

Phryne stood, naked, in front of the mirror considering her profile, a definite bump, she thought. Jack watched her through one eye from the safety of the bed.

A bump, she thought, that was larger than it should be, at eight weeks (at the most) pregnant. She looked over at the bed and caught him looking.

"Come on, Jack," she sighed, "say what you're thinking."

"You look beautiful," he spoke the truth, to him she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"I'm fat," she huffed.

"You're pregnant," he smiled.

"Jack," she sauntered over to the bed, "I am, at the most, eight weeks, two months, pregnant, and this," she waved her hand over her belly, "is more than that." She pouted but behind the pout was concern, even worry.

He pulled her down and splayed his warm hand over said bump, "more than one?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Jack!" she pushed his hand away, "for goodness sake, not that!"

"An heir and a spare," he smirked, relishing her discomfort -though he knew he shouldn't - payback for all the times she had teased him, with her innuendo, her flirting.

"If it is," she grunted, "I'm not doing it again."

He pulled her over him and laughed, "doing it once is going to be enough for the world, lover of mine, especially if it is twins."

She batted his shoulder then lowered her lips to meet his, wondering if Dot could really arrange her dress to hide her condition.

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The discovery of a third body was more than Phryne could bear. This one was a youngish, strong looking man, broad-shouldered and tall. Thick black hair, a resolute expression even in death, square jawed ...

"I've seen him," Phryne hummed as she stood in the make shift morgue looking down on the body. "He's not as bland as the other two, striking, though not particularly attractive."

"Where did you see him, Miss Fisher?" Jack touched her arm, "around the decks, a passenger?"

"I don't know if he was a passenger," she folded her arms and looked at him, "he was leaning over the side, watching the sea, smoking a cigarette. He offered me one ..."

"... and?"

"I didn't, didn't fancy one," she shrugged, "that was it, we didn't speak other than that, but I did notice he was French and spoke to him in his own language.. I thought he seemed regretful, as if he was leaving something behind he didn't want to forget."

"Can you remember what he was wearing?" Jack asked, gently. Phryne had good recall, things like clothes were something she would remember, more as an idea

of a person's social standing, without being judgmental.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," she looked up at the ceiling, "dark clothing, clean, a shirt sans collar, white, though not sparkling white, heavy jacket, black or maybe very dark blue, blue serge trousers, a bit like a policeman's uniform," she turned back to Jack, "sorry, that's all I remember."

"It's good, at least more than we have on the other two victims," he wrote it down in his notebook, retrieved from his suitcase and now back in his pocket where it usually resided.

"Jack," she turned, "what is going on?"

"Damned if I know," he huffed, "now the clothes this chap was wearing match your description ..."

"Jack, were you testing me?" she sniffed.

"No, I just wondered if these," he lifted the jacket and shirt she had described, "were what you saw him in, and thus may be his own clothes and not 'borrowed' as the others were."

"Anything in his pockets?" she reached over for the jacket.

"The cigarettes, French," he put the packet on the doctor's desk, "matches; book of;" she turned that over in her hand, but didn't recognise where they were from, "few coins; also French; and," he reached into the inside pocket, "hello," he scowled, "what is a French police officer doing on board a British ship bound for Australia." He held up a Sûreté Nationale identification card, with the name of the deceased and his photograph.

"Phillipe Giraud," she read, "I wonder if he was looking for our two mystery men," she hummed.

"Well, with a name we can look through the passenger list and find his cabin, perhaps he left some notes or documents there," Jack folded the jacket and put it back in the box containing M Giraud's personal effects.

"And we'd better get word to the Sûreté," she took his offered arm, "would you like me to ..?" she tipped her head, her French was better than his, though he could speak German better than her.

"Let's see what we've got first, I'm sure they will want more than just telling their man is dead."

"Right, of course."

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The passenger list gave his cabin as one of the second class ones.

"According to the purser," Captain Wilson steepled his fingers, "he came on board and paid his fare, as if he were getting on a tram." He pursed his lips, it was not the way one usually booked passage.

"So ..." Phryne tipped her head and thought, "... did he follow the other two?"

"Let's go and see what he left in his cabin," Jack stood and extended his hand, "perhaps he had some notes, or paperwork, or a warrant for their arrest."

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The cabin was clean. There was no indication anyone had ever been there.

Jack ran his hands through his hair, Phryne blew out a whistle and stepped inside.

"There has to be something," she hummed, "if he was any good he would have hidden any evidence."

"Phryne," Jack sighed, "this cabin has been cleaned, the stewards have done a thorough job."

This did not deter his Lady Detective, she examined the pillows, took the linen off the bunks, tipped the mattresses ...

"Come on Jack," she grinned, "I refuse to believe a cleaner is that good, apart from Mr B, of course."

Well at least it used up some time and they could both think and discuss the case as they worked. While she examined the base of the upper bunk he crawled under the bottom one and gazed up at the slats that supported the mattress. As he shifted and pushed his fingers between the bits of wood his shoulder pressed on something small and sharp. He rolled out and ran his hand over the floor and found it - a small screw.

"Hello," he held it up in the light, "what's this from?"

The groove was scratched, as if it had been worked by something other than a screw driver, a penknife, perhaps.

They sat on the bed and looked round at the fittings that would require screwing down.

"Hm," she murmured, then stood up. "What about ..." she stood in front of the small vanity unit that was against the wall. "One, two, ..." she counted the screws in each corner, "three ... only three, one is missing, from this corner here," she pointed. "Nail file," she opened her bag and searched, finding just what she wanted. She grinned at him, "unless you carry a penknife, Jack?"

"Not today, Miss Fisher," he took the file and, using it length ways so he could hold both ends, proceeded to undo the screws holding the mirror frame to the wall.

"That's enough, Jack," she stopped him, "I can see it, and ..." she snaked her fingers into the gap, "... got it!" She waved a large brown envelope triumphantly.

He quickly screwed the mirror back in place and handed her the nail file back, "phew," he whistled, "back to our room, Miss Fisher," he swiftly kissed her forehead, "and to do some reading."

"Good idea, Inspector," she handed him the envelope to put inside his jacket, it wouldn't do for it to be seen, she thought.

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They sauntered, arm in arm, back to their stateroom, not wanting to appear hurried or, as Phryne put it, 'on a mission'.

"Especially by the stewards, Jack," she whispered, "I'm sure they have something to do with it."

"Given that the cabin was spotless, apart from a screw, I agree," he turned the key in the door, "but which one, and why?"

"Espionage?" she reached inside his jacket, all the while gazing into his eyes.

"Now then, Mata Hari," he grabbed her wrist, gently, "there again," he tipped his head in that way that had her go weak at the knees, "it's a possibility."

"Eliminate the impossible and we'll find the possible?" she sat down on the couch and patted the space next to her. When he sat down she lifted her feet onto his knees, "so, spying? Why, and who for, or who for and why?" she toed her shoes off, "international jewel thieves? But where's the stolen property? Adultery? But where are the wronged husbands? And ..." she paused and sighed as Jack started the massage her feet, "... why were they on board anonymously?"

"I think we can discount the marital infidelity, dear," he teased, "but I like the idea of jewel thieves more than espionage. I would expect spies to be on the ship under assumed names, integrating themselves into shipboard life, and therefore becoming invisible. These two were not unnamed _and_ unnoticeable, you say, from a woman's perspective ...so," he reached into his inside pocket, "which of us is right?"

"Care to have a small wager, Inspector?" she teased.

"Betting on an investigation, Miss Fisher?" he raised an eyebrow, "I'm not sure that's legal."

She pouted then had an idea a smiled, "If I'm right, then I get to name the baby if you are ..."

Fair enough," he nodded, "though what if it is twins?"

She rolled her eyes, "well if it's one of each I get to name the boy, if it's two boys I name both of them ..."

"Hmm," he mused, "doesn't seem like much of a bet to me."

"Huh," she huffed, "ok, if I win, and it's espionage, I get to organise our wedding ..."

"Deal," he grinned, "if I win, and it's jewel theft, _I_ get to organise our wedding." They shook hands.

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Jack won.

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Inwardly Phryne was bursting with joy; Jack was less ostentatious than she, so, hopefully, he would organise a quiet, registry office affair that would make the newspapers weeks later. She, however, would be expected to organise a bright, loud, fun filled, self indulgent week long party. Expected, yes, but it was not what she wanted. She had never wanted that. Up until the events of the past few months she hadn't considered marriage at all, precisely because it involved frilly white dresses, speeches that were words that meant nothing, or even the opposite, people paying lip service to the occasion just there for a good time. And Aunt Prudence.

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Jack had already decided what kind of wedding he wanted, the second time around. He'd spent months mentally organising his wedding to the Honourable Phryne Fisher, and it was this: Dot would deal with the dress, which he had already chosen, from her wardrobe, Mr Butler would see to the cake and the reception, Bert and Cec would provide the transport, and Mrs Stanley would host the event at her house - where the, civil, ceremony would take place, in the lovely gardens. Only family and the closest of friends would be invited and there would be no announcement in the papers. As soon as the case was solved he would send telegrams with the most explicit of instructions.

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They poured over the documents, making their own notes in Jack's pocket book. They were relieved to have names for the first two bodies, with photographs that confirmed their identities: Gerard Hubert was the first one, the one who died at the piano recital, and Henri Robert the other. There was a list of the stolen property and the owners; all well to do Parisians with friends in high places; and a long history of the two men.

They had posed as waiters, effortlessly floating around embassy and palatial gatherings, eyeing up the jewellery adorning the necks, wrists, earlobes of the grande dames who ignored them, sneered at them and clicked their fingers to get service. They had started by selling the stolen property to a well known 'fence' in Paris but he had been caught offering a ring to a society gentleman, a Russian prince, who had feasted his eyes on it with glee. He had turned to his French friend, who was showing him the sights, the best clubs, and asked him what he thought.

"Beautiful, mon ami," he murmured, holding his hand out for it, "indeed, quite a piece." He turned it round and looked closely, "aha!" he grabbed the fence, "voleur!" he cried, "thief!" he shook the ring under his nose, "this is not yours to sell, it belongs to a friend of mine, Georges Villeneuve, his wife had it stolen at a ball. Mon dieu!" he spat, "you will pay for this slight upon my friend."

The Russian prince was a strong man and together they had propelled the quaking fence to the nearest gendarmerie, where, under intense interrogation, he had given up the source of the gems and the place where he had hidden them. Usually he took them apart, selling the stones separately but this ring was too good a piece to be broken up and he had taken the chance of selling it to someone who was not French.

However, to find the thieves, Hubert and Robert, did not prove to be so easy. Each time they were found there was no proof, no gendarme, no official of the Sûreté Nationale, could ever catch them in action, no matter how long they watched them. So the thefts had continued until Giraud had seen them. How they concealed their ill gotten gains he could not see, for when they were searched nothing could be found. As the fence had been caught and was languishing in one of Paris' finest jails, they had had to make other arrangements to profit from their 'work'. Giraud had seen them talking to a steward from one of the ships and over time had come to the conclusion that they were looking at a way to sell abroad. He had followed them to London, again seemingly part of the Embassy staff. He had watched them, this particular day, stride up the gangplank to the liner that carried Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and the Honourable Phryne Fisher, his fiancée, back to the land of their birth, for all the world as if they were passengers with tickets and passports, nod politely to the steward and join the rest of the people travelling, getting lost in the general hubbub. Giraud had also strode up the gangplank and slipped past the stewards to find the purser, inform him of his presence and reason for being there and had been lucky enough to be found a cabin. In his notes it seemed that unless a theft occurred he was unlikely to be able to arrest them. He detailed his conversation with the pretty English lady who spoke excellent French and to whom he had offered a cigarette, how he was aware she was wealthy, from the clothes she was wearing, and that she could be a potential target.

"Oh," Phryne gasped, "I wonder if he was watching me for signs of a robbery?"

"Possibly, if he thought you might be a target," he thought this police officer had been a good man, a conscientious man, and if someone else was looking after Phryne, he was rather glad it was M Phillippe Giraud. "Now," he turned his attention back to the file, "who was the steward?"

"He described him as being tall, five feet ten inches to six feet in height, dark haired and clean shaven," she read down the page, "slight build, pale complexion, dark eyes." She thought about all the stewards that she had seen around the ship, trying to remember anyone who might fit that description.

Jack did the same.

"It could be any of them," he sighed.

"No it couldn't," she drew circles with her toes, "only the slim, tall, dark haired ones."

He huffed and smiled.

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Armed with the information gleaned from M Giraud's file they headed to the Captain's cabin, again.

"So, it's one of my stewards, then?" Wilson sounded weary, "which one?"

"Tall, dark and slim," Jack shifted in his chair, "anyone come to mind?"

Wilson scratched his head, "I can muster them all here, if you want."

"I think that would put him on alert," Phryne butted in, "I think, with your permission, we should just talk to them as we find them, wherever we find them ..."

"We can then tick them off our list," Jack continued, "but I would also like to search the empty cabins, there has to be a hiding place for the stones they were planning to sell."

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It was agreed that Phryne and Jack would conduct the searches, alone. The Captain gave them a set of keys and all he asked was that they keep him apprised of the situation and anything they found.

"I'm flattered that you have such confidence in us," Jack said, as they took their leave.

"I have my contacts, Inspector," Captain Wilson nodded, "I found out quite a lot about you, most impressive."

"Oh, well," he scratched his head, "I hope I live up to your expectations."

The Captain just smiled.

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"What I don't understand, Jack" Phryne huffed and sat down on yet another bunk in the crew quarters, "is how a steward gets away with this kind of thing and the Captain doesn't notice."

"So you are wondering if he has something to do with it?"

"Yes, is he the leader," she nodded, "is he the link in the chain?"

"Well, he would have contacts," Jack agreed, "and may also attend certain functions. Oh hell, Phryne, this is worse than trying to break up a spy ring."

"Well, suppose we'd better search the rest of these bunks before heading back to the empty cabins."

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It took two days of endless searching, lifting mattresses, unscrewing mirrors and vanity units, before they found the hiding place - in one of the cabins. It was not the last one, but very nearly and both were getting extremely frustrated. Behind a small bookshelf Phryne noticed a plank slightly out of line; not quite flush next to its partner. She prised it out and the one next to it to find a box set into the space between the inner and outer hull. She pulled it out - it had some weight to it, was about eight inches long, four wide and three deep.

"Clever," she mused, turning it over in her hands. As she passed it over to Jack they heard the door lock click.

They looked at each other and time seemed to stand still - this was not good. Jack put his finger to his lips, indicating she be silent and tiptoed to the door. He put his ear to it then held his hand out and motioned to the glass on the vanity unit.

"Think they've gone," he whispered, "you do have your lock pick, don't you?"

"Of course," she grinned, "a girl must be prepared for every eventuality, but what do we do when we get out?"

"Disappear," he hummed and stood back to let her work.

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'Disappearing' was not going to be easy. First they had to get back to their stateroom, and clear it of all their things and hide them. Jack still had the keys to the empty cabins, save the one that he had left in the lock, when they had found the stolen gems. He was cursing himself for not putting it into his pocket when he had unlocked the door, but, as Phryne sweetly noted, "These things can't be helped."

They only had to be inconspicuous for a couple of days, just until they docked in Alexandria.

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They slipped passed the Captain's cabin and leant against the wall, listening for any sign that the person who had locked them in the cabin had gone to report back, but there was nothing. Phryne cautiously tried the door - locked. Jack looked round then nodded and she set to work with her lock pick, again.

In no time at all they were inside, the door locked behind them in case Wilson came back.

"Desk," Jack whispered, "you try the cupboards."

There was nothing of interest on the desk, the passenger lists they had been looking at, a half written letter to his wife - Jack tried the drawers.

The top one revealed the ship's log so he sat down to read the last week's entries. After a few minutes he sighed with relief.

"Phryne, here," he called her over. She stopped looking between the books on the shelves, "I think we can trust him."

She looked over his shoulder at the entry that had caught his eye, well it was more than one, and all referred to them. All indicated he had contacted the Victoria State Police in Melbourne and his comments were favourable, that they had assured him Detective Inspector Robinson was a safe pair of hands to leave the investigation in. He had also added his own personal view that, 'will be glad when this is all over, and Robinson has found who on my crew is a thief and not someone I should want anywhere near the good people who trust us to keep them, and their belongings, safe on their journey.'

Phryne unlocked the door, with her lock pick, and sat down on the couch. "We still have to tell him that we are supposed to be locked up in one of the second class cabins."

"Well, perhaps he can help us disappear," he moved over and sat next to her, "I need to keep you safe," he watched her reaction, the raised eyebrows, pursed lips, "no arguments, Phryne," he continued. "We are going home to get married and start our family, and, given your 'condition', we need to be doubly careful."

Her shoulders dropped, he was right, but, "I am not going to sit on the sidelines, Jack," she took his hand, "I'm still going to be involved ..."

"Of course you are, love," he leaned towards her and kissed her softly, "I wouldn't have it any other way, just leave me to do the more physical side of things, please?"

"Alright," she leant her head on his shoulder, "if you insist."

"I do."

The quiet was broken by the Captain trying his key in the lock then slowly pushing the door open, sure he had locked it, he always did.

"Captain," Jack stood up, "sorry, we had to get in and ..." he wasn't sure how to explain themselves.

"I see, well," Wilson nodded, "I suppose you do have to cover all bases. So, you have found something, I take it?"

Phryne held up the box they had liberated from its hiding place, "the stolen jewels."

"Goodness, where?"

"In a purpose made hidey hole in one of the empty cabins, which we are supposed to be locked in."

"Locked in!"

"Yes," Phryne smiled, "while we were examining our find the door was locked behind us. We think that the steward who is at least the middle man, locked us in rather than tackle us."

"How did you get out?"

"Oh, you know," she coughed, "I, er ..." she held up her lock pick, "a girl has to look out for herself, you know."

"I see," the captain smiled, "well, now what?"

"We need to become invisible," Jack stepped forward, "the steward is not going to be happy that we are free to roam around the ship."

"Right, another cabin, then," Captain Wilson straightened his back, "but no steward to help, we can't afford to pick the wrong one, or one who will let it slip in conversation." Wilson pulled his cabin list towards him, "right, first class, not a stateroom, but nice enough; a Parlour Suite."

Jack had no idea what a 'Parlour Suite' was but Phryne seemed happy enough so he would go along with it.

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Jack realised it was one of the ones they had searched originally. A smaller room than they had previously resided in; the bed was a four poster set in a corner, with a small table and two chairs, no couch to cuddle on. There was a vanity unit that Phryne could put her makeup and jewellery case on, a small wardrobe and chest of drawers and the bathroom was through a door at the far end.

"This is perfect," Phryne smiled, "we'll be fine in here."

"Right, well," Wilson nodded, "now we need to get your luggage down here."

"We shouldn't be seen, by too many," Jack checked his watch, "most will be in the restaurants, won't they?"

"One or two stewards will be about, but not in the cabin areas," the Captain agreed, "can I ask you ..." he looked from one to the other.

"Captain," Phryne touched his arm and smiled that disarming smile of hers, "we are more than capable of carrying our cases and bags, though perhaps you and Jack could move the trunk?"

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While Jack and the Captain carried the trunk, filled with as much of the clothes as Phryne could pack, not as neatly as Dot, but nothing would be creased beyond wearing, she packed suitcases with her makeup, their underwear, and all the smaller items; tucked the passports into her handbag where her little gold pistol sat; and checked for stockings that had been flung aside in moments of passion. She found one under the bed, together with one of Jack's ties - yes the cleaner was not that good.

Captain Wilson arrived to help her take the remaining luggage to the new cabin and insisted on carrying both of them.

"I shall arrange for some dinner in my cabin," he told her as they trotted along the gangway, "and perhaps you will eat in your cabin, I shall endeavour to see to all your needs myself, for your safety, until we find this person."

"Thank you, Captain," Phryne agreed it would be a good idea, and she was beginning to feel a little nauseous through hunger. "I tend to drink rather a lot of tea and coffee, your stewards will confirm this, could we, perhaps, have the means to make it ourselves? Do you have an electric kettle?"

"We don't keep them for passenger use on board, but," he lowered his voice, "being the Captain has certain privileges and I purchased one for myself, lord knows there are times in the middle of the day, or night, when I need a cuppa and to send for a steward ... well, that being said, you can use mine and I'll get you some tea and coffee, if that would help?"

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In due course the Captain arrived bearing, tea, coffee, a cafetiére, "bought it for the wife, but she wasn't keen" - and his kettle. He also brought some milk though he was uncertain as to how they could keep it fresh.

"No worries," Jack smiled, taking the milk jug, "if we stand it in some cold water it should last a day."

"Thought this might be welcome," Wilson held up a bottle of single malt.

"That's very generous of you," Phryne observed it was a particularly good one, "all we need is a draughts set, Jack," she smiled, referring to their frequent late night draughts and whisky fuelled conversations and debriefings.

"Er ..." then the Captain decided it was a private joke and shrugged his shoulders.

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For the next few days Phryne and Jack kept very much to themselves. She dressed soberly, mainly a plain skirt and blouse, minimal makeup; no vibrant red lipstick - her trademark; and her black beret. She endeavoured to look almost dowdy and Jack wore his oldest suit, plain grey as was the tie, and the shirt was white. "Grey and insignificant", Phryne said, over her coffee one morning.

"You will never be insignificant, darling," he leant over and kissed the top of her head, "though not even you can stop the grey."

"Jack!" she slapped his chest good naturedly, "I will never go grey, I shall have a streak of white, perhaps, but no grey."

"Of course," he laughed, "what was I thinking?"

They found the Parlour Suite most comfortable, intimate, Phryne had called it, and didn't miss the opulence of the stateroom. It was perhaps a little closer to Jack's style, but Phryne enjoyed the feeling of contentment, even though they were still trying to find the steward who had been hiding the stolen gems.

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They were wandering along the gangway, wondering if they could chance a trip on shore, in Alexandria, when Phryne was jostled by a steward in a terrible hurry. The steward tripped and fell and as Phryne bent to help him up he looked into her eyes.

"Bloody hell!" he gasped, and tried to pull his arm away. In that instant she knew he was the one, but before Jack could stop him he pushed her over and ran off.

"Phryne!"

"Go!" she shouted, "I'm alright, get him!"

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Jack launched himself at the retreating steward and wrapped his arms round his neck, pulling him down to the floor.

"Y'got nuthun' on me!" he yelled, squirming in Jack's grasp.

"Why did you run, then?" Jack hauled him to his feet and pulled one arm behind his back, "the innocent have no reason to run." He grabbed him by the jacket collar and frog marched him back towards Phryne who was being supported by another passenger.

"I'm fine, really," she smiled, "there's no need to worry."

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It was a short but rather stupid story, they thought, when the steward, one Albert Gegg, finally explained what had happened.

It was he who had found the right person to sell the gems to, on one of his other trips to Australia. A small time crook in Sydney, who had big ideas. At first they had been able to sell the stolen jewellery to him and he broke it up before selling the stones on They divided the profits equally, three ways, but then Hubert, had got greedy:

"Said he was doing the hard work," Gegg huffed, "finding the stuff and getting him and Robert on to the embassy staff, getting in and out of the bedrooms without being seen. Then the frog started poking around and we knew we had to get out of the country sharpish."

"So you got both men onto the ship, and gave them cabins; a set of keys?"

"Yeah," he grunted, "thought we might as well increase the load while we could, some nice sparklers around the first class areas," he nodded towards Phryne, "you got a nice necklace, the one you wore at the Cap's table, tempting, very tempting indeed." He smirked.

Phryne looked unconcerned as she looked into her handbag, he thought for her handkerchief, but instead she pulled out the little gold gun and lazily pointed it at him.

"Not one of your better ideas," Jack grinned, "she's a crack shot."

"And I could do with the practice, Inspector," she smiled boredly.

"Of course you could," he raised his eyebrows and gave a small smile.

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With Gegg safely locked up in a spare cabin, Phryne sat in the radio room and spoke to Giraud's boss at the Sûreté Nationale. He was devastated to hear of the demise of one of his best operatives and confirmed he would inform his family and his sweetheart that he was no more. Arrangements were made for his body to be sent home from Alexandria and Gegg would be transported back to Paris to be formally charged and sentenced. The box of jewellery was to be handed to the embassy, with the file that Jack would write the whole story in, for each piece to be reunited with its owner.

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"I'm glad that's all over," Phryne sighed, lying on the bed sipping a cup of tea.

"Me too," Jack sighed, "are you sure you weren't hurt? Should I check for bruises?"

"Well," she put her cup down, "I don't think I was hurt, but," she looked up at him from under her lashes, "with my delicate condition," she purred, "perhaps it would be a good idea, if you checked me over."


	12. Chapter 12

So sorry for the silence, work is getting in the way of my writing and the muse decided to take a holiday. I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.

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Dorothy re-read Jack's telegrams. She and Mr Butler sat at the kitchen table grinning like Cheshire cats and making notes on who was to do what for when the engaged couple returned to Wardlow.

A fruit cake was slowly baking in the oven, the fruit soaked in brandy, though not as much as Mr Butler would usually use, owing to Miss Fisher's 'condition', and the sewing box sat open while Phryne's faithful companion restyled the outfit Jack had chosen - the white dress she had worn when they drank champagne in a temperance household in Queenscliffe. She had to add some discreet inserts in the side seams to hide any increase in Phryne's waistline, the reason for which she had been sworn to secrecy, even from Hugh. She had also decided that a lace over dress would be good and had found some beautiful embroidered chiffon with tiny crystals embedded in the design.

Mrs Stanley had bustled over when she had received her telegram, which had insisted that Mr Butler and Dot would do most of the work, fussed and worried that things would not be done as they should be.

"Now, Mrs Stanley," Mr B had sat her down with a restorative sherry, "the Inspector has stipulated what he wants and what Miss Fisher desires."

"But no announcement," she gasped, holding the glass out to be refilled, "no priest, really, what do they think they are doing?"

"It is their wedding, Mrs Stanley," he smiled, "and it's not a day many of us thought we would ever see."

Jack had not told Aunt Prudence Phryne was in the family way, and had asked that she not be told. He didn't give a reason, telegrams were not for such information, he thought, and he had told Dot and Mr Butler in code, not wanting it to get into the papers.

"A civil wedding in your beautiful gardens, Mrs Stanley," Dot had added, "everything in full bloom, I think it's a lovely idea."

"We could have had the reception there," the older woman had huffed ...

"... and we will," Mr B, reminded her.

"Just her family around," Dot smiled, "no fuss."

"Hmm..." Prudence drew her brows together, she supposed she should be happy her niece was getting married, perhaps Inspector Robinson had tamed her, though, deep down, she doubted it. "Guy and Isabella can't make it," she sniffed, "too far to come with Isabella in such a delicate condition."

Isabella Stanley was expecting, and was, in Dot's words, milking it for all she was worth. Prudence didn't hold with the dramatic way she was going on about it, and would be glad when the child was born.

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Phryne would have laughed if she had known her aunt was worrying about her having a simple civil wedding in the garden, but not worried that her cousin and his air headed wife would not attend. When she had heard that there was to be a small Stanley she had laughed, not believing that Isabella would want to spoil her sylph like figure or dirty the house with tiny fingerprints and other things that came with being a mother. Of course, Isabella had started interviewing nannies and wet nurses, furnishing almost a whole suite of rooms for the baby - Prudence didn't think she would be much a part of her grandson's life. Isabella was not a natural mother; if, heaven forbid, the child was born with some disability - like her darling Arthur - he would be passed off to an institution and forgotten about. She resolved to be the best grandmother the child could wish for, it would be her only chance to indulge a little one, she thought.

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"So," she lay back on a lounger on deck, "how goes planning our wedding"

"Well, Guy and Isabella can't make it, too far, given her 'delicate condition'," Jack laughed. "Considering how far you are travelling in the same condition ... but then, you are stronger ..."

"Isabella thinks she's ill," Phryne sniffed, "not pregnant. Seriously, though Jack," she sipped a glass of ginger ale, "apart from slight nausea, and it is slight, I feel as fit as a flea."

"Good," he raised his glass of the same drink, "glad to hear it."

"Have you invited Mac?"

"Oh, you bet!" he threw back his head and laughed at the response he had received. "She says she will be delighted to attend, but she will need several glasses of your best whisky before she actually believes you are tying yourself to one man."

"Hah!" she laughed, "typical! Is she going to be surprised?" She paused, "you haven't told her, have you?"

"God no!" he leant back, "I wouldn't dare." He leant forward towards her, "I take it she will attend you, during your confinement?"

"Absolutely, and before and after and all points in between," she nodded, "I want someone I'm not embarrassed to swear at ... or ..."

"Or what, love" he notice her face cloud over, "it's ok to tell me, I won't laugh."

"I know," she sighed, "it's just, well, I don't like pain ..."

"I don't know anyone who does, sweetheart," he interrupted.

"... I'm, er ..." she inhaled, "I'm scared."

He slipped over to sit beside her, knowing it was something she would never admit to in front of anyone else ... fear.

"Do you want me to be there?" he drew her into a soft embrace.

"How? Men aren't allowed in the delivery room, even I know that," she looked up at his strong jaw.

"Well," he smiled and kissed her forehead, "my sister had her children at home and mother attended, as she is a nurse, or was. Robert was there, at the head end, apparently ... perhaps ..."

"Would your mother help Mac, d'ye think," she mused, "as a nurse?"

"Oh, I'm sure she would, she'd be delighted," he settled her against his chest, "but, perhaps you'd better be introduced first."

"The wedding?"

"I think that would be ideal," he agreed, "I'll telegram her."

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Mrs Robinson, gave the telegram boy a penny and went to sit in her kitchen, as tidy as Mr Butler's, to read the short message. She didn't like receiving telegrams, they were usually the portent of bad news. She lay it on the table and made herself a sustaining cup of tea before sitting and turning it over in her hands and opening it.

She knew her only son was on his way home from England, in the company of his friend, the Honourable Phryne Fisher. He had often wrote of her, and she had recognised his love for her, even when he was very frustrated with her interfering in a case. He had described her in rather more detail than one would a colleague, written amusing anecdotes - her posing for official police photographs, one of which he had sent to her showing Miss Fisher in a sideways pose; beautiful, lively, not in the smallest bit serious - good for Jack. In fact he had quoted her 'I haven't taken anything seriously since nineteen eighteen.'

"Invitation to attend Mrs Prudence Stanley's house, 18 Dec, 11:30 am" it read, "marriage of Miss Phryne Fisher to Inspector John Robinson."

She put her hand to her mouth and sniffed. Jack, remarrying, to the one woman he had assured her would never marry, but the one woman who had captured his heart, more than Rosie ever did. Oh yes, Rosie had been lovely, but always focussing on Jack furthering his career instead of letting him be the man he was, the one who strove for justice and not for the glory of being Commissioner. Jack ran deeper than that, and, from what he had said, so did Phryne. They both understood the horrors of war, had seen the same wretched sights - they understood each other - and she hadn't even met her.

Jack would have been amused, maybe even shocked at his mother's reasoning that Phryne was the best thing that had happened to him in many a year.

Mrs Robinson sent a reply immediately, and then went to see if she could find Miss Fisher's phone number to call the house and see if there was anything she could do.

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Aboard ship, Phryne was becoming anxious to be home. She would be three months pregnant, or maybe slightly more, when they got home, and then there would be two weeks before they would be married. Jack had to get a license and prove he was able to marry, show his divorce papers, it would be obvious to all why she was getting married. Some of her clothes were now a little too tight for comfort and she was wearing loose fitting, but stylish dresses she had managed to find in Bombay, made from sari silk by a young English lady, left stranded by her beau. As the stopover had been for two days the young lady had worked almost round the clock to make Phryne's new wardrobe. Phryne had rewarded her handsomely and told her if she was ever in Melbourne to look her up, she had contacts that may be useful.

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"It'll be fine, Phryne," he held her close one evening, "Dorothy is on the case, you don't have to see anyone you don't want to before the day. You can claim tiredness from all the travelling."

"Aunt Pru will be over as soon as we land," she sighed, "how will I hide it from her?"

"Remain seated?" he mused, "wear a shawl? A loose jacket.?"

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In the end it was neither the shawl or the jacket that hid the truth from Mrs Stanley. Phryne had enjoyed a homecoming meal of a light vegetable medley, cold meats and salad, quiche, and a delicious raspberry pavlova.

Dot determined it had to be the cream in the dessert, just a little too rich for her mistress, as she took away the bed linen Phryne had been unable to avoid vomiting over first thing the following morning. Jack helped her to the bathroom and stroked her back as she completely emptied her stomach into the lavatory and groaned.

"How about I run you a bath," he murmured, "then Dorothy will have changed the bed and you can have some more sleep."

"Thank you, Jack," she leant against his knee, "sorry, did I get you, as well?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself about," he smiled, "it will all wash, I'm sure."

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The bath was comforting and relaxed her. She allowed Jack to wrap her in a soft warm towel and lead her back to the bedroom, where Dot had remade the bed with fresh cotton sheets and put out a cream cotton nightdress. Phryne supposed this was because it was easier to wash but she did find them cool and comfortable.

She slept for an hour or so. Jack, satisfied she was alright and that Dot or Mr Butler would call him if she needed him, headed to City South to let Hugh and the team know he was back.

"She will be fine, Inspector," Dot passed him his hat, "she's just had a long journey and the cream in last night's dessert was a bit much for her, just now."

"What will you tell Mrs Stanley?" he paused with his hand on the door handle, "Phryne doesn't want her to know about the baby."

"Just that she's tired from her journey," Dot smiled, "and that she ate something that may have disagreed with her. I thought I might call Dr Macmillan, do you think I should?"

"I think that's an excellent idea, Dorothy," he smiled, "she wants Mac to take care of her, perhaps she could give her a quick check up."

"I'll ask her to come before Mrs Stanley, if she's able to, then," Dot watched him walk down the path to where Bert and Cec were waiting to take him to the station, he waved and continued on his way.

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Phryne was just finishing some tea and ginger biscuits when Mac arrived. Dot had just asked her to call, if she was able to, Miss Fisher was feeling under the weather and could she come and give her a quick check up.

"I'm sure she's quite well," Dot spoke lightly, "but it is unusual, and she has been travelling ..."

"I'll pop over in an hour," Mac hummed, wondering if Phryne had picked up a bug on board, it was entirely possible, with so many from all walks of life, it only took one ...

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Dr Macmillan pulled up short at the sight in the bed. Phryne's hair had been brushed and she wore a pretty cream nightdress, but she was so pale.

"Hullo, Mac," she still managed a broad smile, "Dot needn't have called you, I'll be fine," as she knew she would be when the ginger took effect.

"I'm the doctor," Mac huffed, but returned the smile, "now, old thing, what ails you?"

"I'm not sick," Phryne sighed, "come and sit by me, and I'll tell you a story ..."

She proceeded to tell Mac about her trip to England, getting her father home, the cases and finally the decision she and Jack had made.

"What!" Mac eyebrows hit her hairline, "Phryne ... you are Phryne Fisher aren't you? ... surely not, not even for the family."

"Not for the family, for those that died so we could have this life," Phryne inhaled, "what a waste. No, I want some good to come out of it, and with father at the helm that's unlikely to happen, so mother is in charge and she has telegrammed to tell me that they have their first residents. I trust Dawson to keep things going and he will phone me if he needs to."

"Well, I'd better give you a check up, now," the doctor opened her bag, "and then down to my surgery later in the week, for a full work up."

Phryne allowed her friend to fuss and take her blood pressure and some blood samples.

"I'm going to suggest a course of iron, for a week, just to be sure," Mac folded her stethoscope up and closed her bag. "Now what are we telling your Aunt, surely not the truth?"

"Not yet," Miss Fisher shook her head, "perhaps that I ate something that upset me, on the ship?"

"How about a bug?" Mac smoothed the covers over the bump she had just examined, where she had agreed that, given what her patient could tell her about how far on she was, it may well be twins.

"I suppose so, though she will go on about keeping to my own area of the ship, the first class decks."

"Whatever we say she will have something cutting to say," Mac noted, "do you want me to stay?"

"That would be lovely," Phryne agreed, "now, perhaps I should put a little make up on, I must look ghastly."

"Very pale, it shocked me, when I first came in," Mac got up and went to get the cosmetics and a hand mirror from the dressing table, "don't overdo it, she won't believe you're unwell."

"But I'm not," she applied some foundation.

"For the purposes of today, you are."

"Right."

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Phryne was in the parlour when Mrs Stanley arrived. Dot had suggested she wear one of her new dresses with an embroidered shawl she had acquired on her travels.

"It drapes nicely over your front, Miss," she stood back to assess the look, "and no one would know about ..."

"Thank you, Dot," her mistress smiled, "I shall tell her the news when Jack and I are married, probably that day."

"Was it ..." Dot inhaled and lifted her shoulders, "was it a mistake, Miss?"

"Not really, no," Phryne sat down, "we, I, felt that the line should carry on, after the sacrifice, so Jack and I decided to throw caution to the wind and if I caught then we would get married, otherwise I committed to him, but we would stay unmarried. The child can only inherit if he is born in wedlock."

"So, it's a boy then," Dot smiled, only Miss Fisher would consider she could order the sex of her child.

"Actually, Dot, we think it might be twins, given the size of me, already."

"Oh my," Dot put her hand to her mouth, to hide the smile, "well ..." but she was lost for words.

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Mrs Stanley arrived, surprised to see the doctor there, sipping tea with her niece. It was more usual for her to see Mac with a whisky in her hand, but it was a little early in the day, even for her.

"Aunt Prudence," Phryne reached out her hand, "how lovely to see you, how are you?"

"I'm very well, Phryne dear, but you ..." she waved her hand at her.

"Possibly a little something I picked up on board ship," Phryne went into the well rehearsed excuse, "I'm feeling better now."

"I can come back another day, darling," Mrs Stanley made to leave.

"No, please stay," Phryne patted the seat next to her, "Mac assures me I'm not catching, and Mr Butler has prepared a light luncheon, it would be a shame to waste it."

"As long as you will be alright," Prudence sat down, "it's unusual for you to be ill, Phryne, always the stronger of the children."

"It's really nothing serious, Mrs Stanley," Mac cut in, "a long journey, close quarters with a lot of people, it happens. Phryne will be back helping the Inspector with his cases, whether he likes it or not."

"Ah, yes, the Inspector," Prudence mused, "you are really going to marry him?"

"Of course, I thought you'd be pleased I'm marrying at all," Phryne pouted, "Jack may not be what you think of as the right social class, but he's good man, Aunt P, far too good for me, yet he is prepared to put up with me."

"He's been putting up with you for the past three years, old thing," Mac laughed, "in fact you're like an old married couple already."

"Hah!" she huffed, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

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"I'm sure she noticed nothing," Dot smiled as she finished clearing the table, "it's hardly noticeable, in that dress, anyway."

"I suppose so," Miss Fisher hummed, "but she was rather concerned, even for Aunt P. Oh well, there's nothing to be done about it now, is there," she shrugged her shoulders, "now, what's this about Jack's mother ringing?"

"She just asked if there was anything she could do," Dot put down the pile of plates, "she sounded really nice, told me to ring if I thought of anything."

"That's very kind of her," Phryne gazed up at the ceiling and thought, "you know, we were going to wait until the wedding before I was introduced but perhaps I should invite her to tea ..."

"I think that's a lovely idea," Dot picked the plates up, again, and took them into the kitchen, "the number's on the pad," she called through.

"Thank you!"

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Mrs Catherine Robinson lifted the receiver and announced herself.

"Hello," Phryne immediately liked the sound of her voice, like Jack's but lighter, "Phryne Fisher here ..."

"Oh, my dear," Mrs Robinson smiled, Phryne could hear it, "how lovely of you to ring."

"I was wondering," Phryne mused, "if you would like to come over for tea. I thought that we should be introduced, if I am to marry your son." Her voice was light and full of laughter, "I don't think we should leave it until the wedding day, do you?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Mrs Robinson agreed, "I'd love to."

"Good, you can tell me all the things Jack doesn't want me to know about him," Phryne's bell like laugh rang down the phone, and they agreed on a time.

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Jack was feeling completely relaxed and exhausted at the same time. He had been to the Registry Office and obtained the marriage license and it had been easier than he imagined. His divorce papers had proved no hindrance to his desire to marry again and the new license resided in his inside jacket pocket.

He had shown his face at City South and spoken to the Commissioner to tell him he was back in Melbourne and would take up his duties the following week.

Now he was heading home ... Wardlow was now his home so he supposed he should do something about his little bungalow ... but now he was heading to his new home and his fiancée, he hoped she was feeling better than she was this morning, they had much to discuss, but her health came first.

He hoped the door had been left unlocked as he realised he didn't have his own key, yet, and knocking ...

Mr Butler must have a sixth sense; he opened the door just as Jack got to the top step and stood wordlessly aside to let him in.

"Thank you, Mr Butler," Jack grinned, "should get a key ..."

"I took the liberty, this morning, sir," the older man held up the required implement, "though I was warned by Mrs Collins, she was at the back door."

Jack took the key and placed it securely in his coat pocket tipping his head as he heard Phryne's distinctive laugh.

"Miss Fisher is feeling better then," he let Mr Butler take his coat and hat.

"She has a guest for tea," Mr Butler nodded, "your mother." He pushed the door to the parlour open before Jack could close his mouth.

"Close your mouth dear," Mrs Robinson muttered, "there's a train coming."

His mouth slammed shut and he swallowed, what stories had Phryne dragged out of her, he felt an hour of embarrassment heading his way.

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It was more than an hour of embarrassment, Phryne invited Catherine to stay for dinner, an invitation she readily accepted having had such a lovely afternoon.

Over the pre-dinner drinks and dinner Jack periodically went red to the tips of his ears over stories his mother told; from his adventures on his bicycle with his friends and his arresting the cat for pinching some cooling chicken on the kitchen counter, to his entrepreneurial exploits selling fresh baked biscuits and juice on hot summer days to his mates to fund his library of boys adventure books.

"I take it you were the one slaving over a hot stove?"

"Oh yes indeed," Catherine laughed, "maximum return for minimum effort, so different to the man he is today."

"Indeed," Phryne agreed, "now it's maximum effort ... sometimes for very little return."

"I'm very proud of him, though," Catherine looked at her son, "very proud indeed."

Jack went redder than he had all evening at his mother's praise.

Phryne reached over and took his hand, "he's far too good for me," she sighed.

"I think you complement each other rather nicely, dear," her future mother-in-law smiled, "you make him smile."

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After his mother had been collected by the Red Raggers Jack showed Phryne the marriage licence he had obtained and told her about his day, a little mundane, he said, but all in all fairly successful.

"I survived a visit by Aunt Prudence," she shifted against him as they lay side by side in bed, "convinced her I had picked up a bug on board ship, Mac was here so she helped."

"Dot said she may call her, I did agree it was probably a good idea."

"Yes, well, I'm seeing her next week, for a full check up, but she did agree it might be more than one," Phryne sighed, "imagine me, a mother of twins."

"You'll be wonderful," he kissed the top of her head, "unconventional, but wonderful."

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Jack settled back into work and Phryne and Dot, together with Mr Butler and occasional interference from Mrs Stanley, organised the wedding. Dot had Phryne try on the dress she had altered and both agreed that the overdress in the embroidered chiffon worked very well. Dot had also begun to fashion a Juliet cap instead of a veil. Currently it was plain and she told her mistress she would like to add some crystal or diamante embellishments.

"It should catch the sunlight, Miss," she smiled, "and pick up the crystals in the chiffon."

"Mmm ..." Phryne tipped her head, "I see what you mean, I think, so, how about ..." she picked through her jewellery box, "this." She held out a diamond string with small knots at intervals along its length. "The diamond settings are linked with jump rings so they can be taken apart. I rarely wear it, but I might get some use out of the cap, maybe ..."

"Oh, well if you're sure," Dot looked closely to see where the jump rings attached, "it should be relatively easy to open the rings into short strings, I think ..."

"Lovely."

"What are you doing about your wedding ring, Miss?" Dot hadn't seen a visit to a jeweller or goldsmith in the schedule.

"I suppose I should have one," Phryne mused, "don't want to blacken the family name any further, do I?"

Dot wasn't quite sure how she should respond to that remark, so kept quiet. In the end it was Catherine that provided the answer to this question. She wasn't sure why, but she had kept her mother's wedding ring hoping one day to pass it on. But Jack's sister hadn't wanted it, too thin, she said, and she didn't think Rosie should have it, for some reason, but ... having met her future daughter in law she thought, perhaps ...

The offer completely blindsided Phryne. Jack hadn't been sure how to approach the idea of a gold band that would signify she belonged to someone even though he was more than prepared to wear one for her.

"I thought it was more your style," Catherine held the ring out to Phryne, "discreet. I believe the gold came from the Mount Alexandra mine."

"Goodness," Phryne gasped, "that was my Uncle Edward's mine, well he co-owned it. Strange how things come around."

"You better try it on," Catherine insisted, "your hands look bigger than mother's."

It didn't go over Phryne's knuckle but she knew a good goldsmith who would be able to stretch it for her.

"I think Jack was worried I wouldn't want to show I have tied myself to a man," Phryne sighed, "I understand, but I always wear my engagement ring ... Jack is more complicated than I thought."

"Not really, he just doesn't want to change you, you are who he fell in love with, not the little woman sitting at home, sewing on his buttons and making his dinner ..."

"I can cook, you know," Phryne laughed, "not well, but he wouldn't starve. I haven't always had someone to 'do' for me ..."

"I am sure, dear," Catherine touched her arm, "and you will always rise to whatever occasion presents itself. Now, I'm afraid I must take my leave, I promised to go and see my grandchildren, Little Jackie has been up to no good again."

"He sounds quite a character, from what Jack has told me," Phryne had managed to get a few stories from her fiancé about his nephews and niece.

"He has been caught stealing apples from the neighbour's tree, fortunately it was Elizabeth that caught him and not the neighbour."

"Perhaps you should have Jack arrest him," Phryne mused, "just give him a taste of what could happen if ..."

"He wouldn't believe Uncle Jack would do that," Catherine sighed, "it did nearly happen, when he took a bun off a stall in the market. Really, Phryne, none of us know what to do with him. He's nine now, he should know better."

"What do his parents do?"

"His father give him the slipper," Catherine sighed, "but he just laughs."

While it had not been beyond Phryne, at the same age, to pinch a bun from a stall, or an apple from outside the greengrocer's when she and Janey were starving in those distant days in Collingwood, Jack's sister and her family were nowhere near the breadline. His brother in law, Robert, owned a steelworks and business was good, so Little Jackie had no need to steal food.

Out in the hall the phone rang, Phryne hoped Mr Butler would take it while she thought of how they could bring home the wrong of the lad's actions.

"Excuse me, Miss," Mr Butler stepped into the parlour, "that was Mrs Heston, young Jack has disappeared from the house."

"I'm sorry, Phryne, I gave Elizabeth your number, as he was in trouble again. He's never run away before."

"Where would he be likely to go?" Phryne stood ready to join the hunt for her soon to be nephew, by marriage, "friends, school friends?"

"I have no idea," Catherine sounded exasperated, "I need to go and see how I can help."

"How _we_ can help, Catherine," Phryne touched her arm, "Mr Butler bring the Hispano round, I'll take Mrs Robinson over ... "

"Of course Miss," Mr Butler held Catherine's coat out for her while his mistress skipped up the stairs to find her duster coat and hat.

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Mr and Mrs Robert Heston were standing in the parlour, trying to find out if their middle son had any friends they didn't know about. His elder brother, Laurence and little sister Millie knew no one else apart from his school friends. Elizabeth had phoned just about everyone of their parents but none of them had seen Jackie (as he was known) that day. All the other children were accounted for and when asked assured their parents they did not know where he would be.

"Perhaps he's gone to the foreshore, mother," Laurence suggested, "he likes it there."

"He knows not to go on his own," his father huffed.

"He knows, but that doesn't mean he hasn't disobeyed," Elizabeth ran her hands through her hair, now not so neatly styled.

"Are you going to call Uncle Jack?" Mille whispered, "perhaps his policemen will go looking for him."

"Excuse me, madam," the butler interrupted them, "your mother and Miss Fisher are here."

"Oh, goodness, mother," Elizabeth gasped, "I didn't expect you to bring Miss Fisher."

"I wondered if I could help," Phryne stepped forward hand outstretched, "I'm sorry we meet like this."

"So am I," Elizabeth took the hand, "my husband, Robert," she indicated the man to her left.

"Mr Heston," Phryne smiled.

"Please, it's Robert, as we are to be related."

"So, what happened that Jackie would decide to run away?" Phryne cut to the chase.

"He had been told off, for pinching biscuits and cake, as well as stealing apples," Elizabeth sat down and sighed, indicating her guests should also sit down. "He is greedy for sweet things, but I told him he wasn't to have any before his meal. He shouted at me, that I was starving him."

Robert leant over and patted her hand.

"You do not starve him, dear, or the other two," he murmured, "the children are well fed."

"These two look the picture of health," Phryne smiled.

"Sorry, Millie and Laurence," Elizabeth held out her hands to the two children waiting to be introduced, though Millie had sidled up to her grandmother and had been silently appraising her, soon to be, aunt's trousers and blouse, "this is, or will be, your Aunt Phryne, she is going to marry Uncle Jack."

Laurence held out his hand and smiled, saying how nice it was to meet her, Mille giggled.

"You're pretty."

"Why thank you," Phryne smiled back, unused to forthright small children, "you are too."

"Will you find my brother?" Mille continued, "only he'll be late for dinner."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?"

Phryne asked to see Little Jackie's bedroom, to see if he had left any clue as to where he might go, if he was minded to run off.

It was clean and tidy, nothing out of place. Phryne opened the drawers and checked to see if he had a diary, or a notebook that he might put down anything that was bothering him. There was nothing.

"Try the back of the wardrobe, Miss Fisher," Laurence opened the door, "only Jackie keeps a box of his treasures in there- least that's what he calls them."

Phryne smiled at him and reached in to pull out an old shoe box. Opening it she found a seashell, a smooth pebble, a ticket for Luna Park and a uniform button, probably one of his uncle's when he was still in uniform. Phryne allowed her mind to wander to the thought of Jack in police uniform and wondered how easy the buttons were to undo. She shook herself out of her reverie and held up the ticket.

"Luna Park would seem like a good place to start."

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Laurence and Mille had begged to be allowed to ride in the Hispano with Phryne, at least, she mused to herself, she had them on her side. That was a good thing, she thought, that his nephew and niece seemed to like her, getting the children of one's affianced family on board was likely to be to her advantage. If she found Little Jackie that would be even better, his parents ... they seemed to be perfectly nice people, she wondered if Jack had praised her to them, as he had to his mother, she better find the little rascal, alive and well.

Elizabeth had taken a picture of Jackie, together with his siblings, with her, to show around. The ticket booth hadn't seen him, and they would have noticed, the man said, "a little lad, on his own."

"You won't mind," Phryne asked, smiling her most beguiling smile, "if we have a quick look around, just to be sure he hasn't snuck in, behind a family group, perhaps."

"No Miss," he said, "you go ahead, we're closing soon, wouldn't want him to be locked in."

"Thank you," she waved the group through. "Laurence and Millie, you make sure you are with your parents, or grandmother at all times," she insisted, "sing out if you see him."

"Where are you going?" Catherine raised her eyebrows.

"Ghost train," she shrugged, "best place to hide. Why don't you try the candy stands, food areas?"

"Good idea," Robert grumbled, "he thinks with his stomach."

"Right."

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All areas searched, they still hadn't found Jackie and the light was beginning to fade. Phryne's heart was sinking and memories of Janey kept sneaking into the back of her mind.

They were just wondering where else they could search when Hugh Collins appeared.

"Miss Fisher!"

"Hugh? What's brought you here?"

"Report of theft. A quantity of sweets and cakes have gone missing, not accounted for in the day's activities."

"Have the caught the culprit?" she immediately thought of the missing boy.

"No, they chased him but he got away," Hugh shook his head, "are you here on a case?"

"Missing boy," she didn't want to mention the connection to his superior officer.

"Wonder if he's the thief?" Collins mused.

"Could be," she agreed, "so, is it just you?"

"Sweets and cakes, Miss Fisher," Hugh nodded ruefully, "not quite for the Inspector."

"Quite," she smiled, "well, which way did he go?"

"Apparently in the direction of the O'Donnell Gardens."

"Thanks, Hugh," she patted his arm, "why don't you tell Jack I'm on the case."

"Actually, Miss ..."

"Alright," she grinned, "join the gang."

This was one case Hugh felt he should let Miss Fisher take the lead on, a missing child ... her sister ... it would never leave her.

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Hugh swept the area with his torch, the adults called his name.

Nothing, not a rustle, or a weep, or a cough.

"Jackie!" Millie yelled, "will you please come out, I want my dinner!"

Phryne suppressed a smirk, she warmed even more to the little girl, and wondered if one of hers would be so ... so ... purposeful.

Hugh swept his torch over the foliage again and caught a glimpse of movement.

"There!" he pointed.

Laurence followed the line of his arm and ran, rugby tackling his brother to the ground. Hugh was close behind him and grabbed Jackie by the scruff of his neck. Phryne wanted to stop him, explain who the boy was, but, mindful of her previous conversation, and the observation of his grandmother that he had nearly been arrested for theft before she decided that now was not the time to make such introductions.

"Well," she folded her arms, "there's your thief, Senior Constable, shall we meet you at the station?"

"Er, yes, Miss," Hugh cottoned on, Phryne though he was learning, "City South."

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"Gerroff!" Jackie wriggled as Hugh hauled him into the station, by his arm.

"Sit down and shut up," Hugh commanded, "I need to take your details."

"Collins?" Jack came out of his office, alerted by the noise, "Elizabeth, Phryne ..." he stopped and gaped.

"Hello, Jack," Phryne smiled, "it would seem Hugh was chasing the same person we were."

"Office, now," Jack opened the gate and hauled Jackie through, "Miss Fisher, would you join us please."

"What about his mother?" she started forward.

"If you wouldn't mind waiting, Elizabeth," he looked at his sister, "I'll deal with this young man."

"Thank you, Jack," Elizabeth sighed and sat down on the bench, absent-mindedly drawing Millie onto her knee.

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Little Jackie slouched into the chair, but Uncle Jack dragged him out of it by the scruff of his neck.

"Please take a seat, Miss Fisher," he nodded to his fiancée and turned to his nephew, "I don't recall telling you to sit down, young man."

Jackie looked at the floor and stuck out his bottom lip. This was the first time he had been in the office, his parents usually asked Jack to go over to the house and explain to him what happened to people who stole. He didn't understand why he had asked his mother to stay outside and asked this lady to join them instead. She was obviously wealthy, from the clothes she wore and the fabulous car she drove, so why did Uncle Jack know her?

"Well, Jackie," Inspector Robinson stood with his hands in his pockets and looked down at the boy. He sounded disappointed in the extreme, Phryne was interested to see how he dealt with little boys who broke the law, would he treat his own child the same way. She watched the boy, noting he was in no way starving, as he had accused his mother, he was plump, chubby, definitely not underfed.

Jackie didn't look up.

"What have you got to say for yourself, this time?"

"Hungry," Jackie muttered.

"You are always hungry," Jack huffed, "yet you are well fed, good meals, well cooked, varied ingredients. The only way you could be hungry would be if you don't eat the meals your cook prepares and sets before you at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Remember, boy, I have eaten at your house, I know what you are offered - you do not starve."

There was silence.

"What do you say, Miss Fisher? Does he look as if he starves, to you?"

"Indeed not, Inspector," she shook her head, "now, if he had the same diet as I did, when I was a child, then, perhaps I could understand."

"Perhaps that is what he needs to be shown, a week on a Collingwood diet?" He pursed his lips, the ones that drove her to distraction when he touched all parts of her body. "And, of course, he needs to pay for the sweets and cakes he stole."

"I haven't got any money, Uncle Jack," Jackie looked up, eyes wide.

"Your money box, if I remember rightly," Jack scowled at him, "gets a regular deposit from your father."

"Not anymore," Jackie murmured, "not since you came last time."

"Ah, over the theft of the freshly baked apricot pie in the kitchen," Jack nodded, "well, whatever is left in it will have to be used."

"Would you like me to outline a Collingwood diet, Inspector?" Phryne tipped her head.

"Thank you, Miss Fisher," he nodded, "now, where to have him stay for the week?"

"Can't I go home, Uncle Jack?" Jackie's voice began to quiver.

"I can't keep you in the cells, though it's what you deserve," Jack grumbled, "unless you can think of somewhere, Miss Fisher?"

"I can't and I don't know of anyone in Collingwood that could afford another mouth to feed, Inspector, so home is best, with a list of foods that he can eat."

"Good, I just hope he learns his lesson before the wedding at the weekend."

"So do I," Phryne stood up, "well, if there is anything else I can do for you, Inspector, please don't hesitate to call," she offered her hand.

He lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

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"Oh, Miss Fisher," Elizabeth stood up, "what is going to be done with him?"

"He will be going home with you, Elizabeth. Jack and I have not made it known to him that I am to be his aunt, by marriage, so that should be a surprise to him at the weekend. He is to live on a Collingwood diet for the rest of the week, so that is bread, not fresh, watery stews, use a lot of cabbage; it's cheap and I survived on it as a child; no sweets or cakes, little meat, potatoes ..."

"I get the idea," she sighed, "but the cakes and sweets he stole?"

"To be paid for out of his money box, according to his uncle."

"Got off lightly, boy," Robert rumbled as his son was escorted through. "I hope you realise that your Uncle has stuck his neck out for you, but be assured, he won't do it again."

Jackie bit his lip and nodded.

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Jack was quiet over dinner, he ate without really tasting though he did clear his plate. Phryne watched him and felt for him. A mixture of embarrassment and anger, she thought, that his nephew, from a good home, thought he could take what he wanted without thought of the consequences.

She took his hand as they sat together in the parlour.

"It'll be alright, Jack," she murmured, "he'll learn."

"Will he though?" he sighed, "this is not the first time he has got into trouble ..."

"Your mother hinted as much," she heaved a sigh, "well, let's see how he likes living off what I had as a child, perhaps I should have another word with him, maybe at the wedding, when he's surrounded by lots of sweet treats and tasty morsels."

"Our children ..."

"Will not even think about pinching food, from the kitchen or anywhere else," she lifted her shoulders, "they will be taught that food is provided for them, that they are lucky to be fed so well - I might even take them round the poorer areas to show them that not everyone is as well fed. Maybe I should take Jackie for a walk round Collingwood, one day."

"That was one thing I thought of," he seemed to brighten a little, "show him how lucky he really is, do you think it would work?"

"Shall we get married, first, Jack?" she cupped his cheek with her hand, "he has this week on a restricted diet, perhaps next week, I doubt the Commissioner is going to allow you a honeymoon," she pouted.

"Sorry, I'll find a way to make it up to you."

"You can start now," she stood up and held out her hand, "I have a few ideas that are best carried out upstairs."

He smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

Thoughts of how to show Little Jackie right from wrong were pushed into a discreet corner of both Phryne and Jack's minds as the day of their wedding fast approached. All the arrangements had had their 'i's dotted and the 't's crossed all that was required was for the bride and groom to turn up. Mrs Stanley was on tenterhooks. The happy couple had thrown aside all traditions, they would arrive together, driven by Mr Butler in the Hispano Suiza, Jack would leave her side and head to the Registrar and Phryne would be escorted by Hugh. She wasn't going to be 'given away' as she reminded Jack she wasn't a discarded library book. Dot would take her bouquet from her while she took her vows and then the reception would be held.

Prudence would not believe it until she saw it for her own eyes, Phryne agreeing to be a wife, forsaking all others - although that part of it she was convinced would not happen. She just hoped Jack wouldn't be hurt.

Phryne, however, had no worries about forsaking all others, Jack was enough for her, more than enough. He was always at pains to make sure their lovemaking was interesting even when they were both tired. He could find places to touch and kiss her that she thought he had explored before, but each time it was different. He could tease and tempt her until she begged for him to take her and he rarely, if ever, left her wanting more.

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The day dawned bright and sunny. Phryne stretched and turned over to see Jack on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

"Morning," her voice was soft and sultry. He turned and smiled, put his arm under her and pulled her over onto his chest, and sighed.

His voice rumbled in his chest as he murmured the same greeting and he felt her lips turn into a smile against his skin.

They lay there in quiet contemplation and contentment for some time, until Jack shifted and suggested they make a move.

"Not that, darling," he grabbed her wrist gently as her hand slipped gently down his torso, "we don't both want to be late for our wedding, imagine your Aunt's reaction."

She pouted, but it was only for effect, the thought of Aunt Prudence possibly having a heart attack if she was a moment late spurred her into action and she pushed herself up.

"You're right," she tipped down and kissed him, "but I'm going to have a good soak in the bath."

"Good idea," he grinned, "I shall come and scrub your back, shall I?"

"Jack, you've just told me 'no'," she huffed, "and you know what happens when you scrub my back."

"Then you will just have to exercise some self control."

"Huh," she blew out.

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They both managed to control themselves and after a long soak and a relaxing back massage Phryne was helped out of the bath and Jack wrapped a large soft towel round her.

He drew her close for a brief, but deep kiss. She hummed her appreciation and snuggled close.

"I do love you, Jack," she mumbled from somewhere below his chin, "so very much."

He guided her back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, pulling her onto his knee.

"You, soon to be Mrs Robinson," he nuzzled into her damp hair, "are the best and most beautiful lady detective I could ever wish to meet. I think, no, I am sure, that I have loved you since the first time I ever saw you. Then when I saw you in the sauna, your hair damp and you wrapped only in a towel, much as you are now, I knew you were going to be trouble, but, you know Phryne, I was rather looking forward to that trouble."

"Oh Jack," she breathed, her eyes glistening, "I'm sure I've been a lot more trouble than you imagined."

"You have," he agreed, kissing her bare shoulder, "but you make my life worth living - I love you, more than I thought I could ever love anyone."

"What have I done to deserve you?" she looked deep into his eyes.

"Or I you?" he patted her bottom, "but, I suppose we are stuck with each other, so off you get Miss Fisher, we have a wedding to attend."

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Jack dressed in another room, to allow Dot to see to Phryne and so he didn't see her dress until she joined him in the parlour. There Mr Butler had arranged for everyone to have a glass of Champagne before Dot and Hugh preceded the bride and groom over to Mrs Stanley's home.

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Although Phryne had tried on the dress, to ensure enough material had been let into the seams, she hadn't seen the finished item. Dot had insisted it be a surprise and hoped that her mistress liked what she had done. The mirror in the bedroom was draped over with a sheet - she would only see the dress when she was completely dressed.

After applying her make-up, she obediently put on the ivory brassiere and tap pants, ivory silk stockings, a garter of the palest blue and ivory slip.

"Close your eyes, Miss," Dot ordered, "and arms up."

Phryne felt the cool silk velvet slip over her head and shoulders and Dot fasten the clips. It felt strange, to have something put over her head and not be able to see what was happening. Dot pulled her arms down and slipped the chiffon and crystal coat up her arms fastening it with buttons and button loops from the top edge to the waist. She then placed the Juliet cap on her head and secured it with pins. Lastly she helped her mistress into a pair of ivory Mary Janes that she had attached a tiny chiffon rose to, over the button fastening.

"Alright Miss," Dot crossed her fingers, "you can look now."

Phryne opened her eyes, trusting Dot completely, but was open mouthed when she gazed on her reflection. The dress did not look too much changed, the inserts Dot had added were a perfect match. The coat followed the neckline of the dress and was fitted to the waist. The fine, hand-rolled edge was decorated by an embroidered daisy chain that must have taken Dot hours and hours. The sleeves were loose and gathered into a narrow cuff at the wrist and fastened with a tiny pearl button.

The Juliet cap was a neat latticework piece that covered her crown and caught the light, and the shoes were perfect.

"Dot," she breathed, "how can I ever thank you? It's lovely."

"Thank you, Miss," Dot heaved a sigh of relief, "and in keeping with tradition, the old is the dress; of course; the new - your lingerie, the blue -the garter - Phryne lifted the hem of the dress and smiled a wicked smile - and the borrowed ..." Dot stepped forward, "if you don't mind ..." she fastened a thin gold chain around her wrist, "mine from Hugh for my birthday."

It wasn't an exceptional chain, just a simple set of links in gold, but to Phryne, at that moment, Dot had given her something perfect. She was truly touched by the girl's generosity and almost moved to tears.

"Oh Dot," she hugged her companion, "such a beautiful thought. Thank you."

"Now Miss," Dot brought herself back to the matter in hand, "I wasn't sure if you wanted the Inspector to see you before you walk down the aisle, so if you want to keep it from him you could wear this." She held up a lightweight blue velvet cloak with a hood.

"Now that's a good idea, keep him guessing eh?"

"Well he requested the dress so ..." Dot shrugged.

"The cloak, Dot, let's do it," she laughed feeling silly and childish and so in love.

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Jack couldn't hide his surprise at the cloak that covered Phryne, even when she took a glass of champagne he couldn't see the dress he had asked Dot to remodel. But he took it in his stride, nothing was ever going to be straightforward with Phryne as his wife and it looked like she intended to start their married life with little jokes.

"Right, off we go, Inspector," Dot called across the room, "you're with Hugh and I, Mr Butler is driving Miss Fisher."

"But ..." Jack looked at Phryne, who looked innocently at the ceiling, he was being organised and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

"Don't want to be late, Jack," she giggled, "best do as you're told."

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"So, Mr Butler," Phryne put her glass down, "change of plans?"

"Mrs Collins suggested it, Miss," he nodded politely, "if you decided to wear the cloak they would take the Inspector and reveal all at Mrs Stanley's. We do hope you approve."

"Oh I do, Mr B, indeed I do," she grinned.

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With the hood up on the car nobody noticed the woman in the slightly unseasonable cloak sitting in the back twirling a simple bouquet of pink roses and white baby's breath. Mr Butler had removed the thorns as he had picked them from the garden and tied them with a wide ivory ribbon that morning. Their perfume was heady and sweet and she resolved, slightly tearfully, to have them placed on Janey's grave in the family plot. If there was a little girl growing in her womb she would bear the name somewhere.

Mr Butler looked in the rear view mirror and smiled a little smile. If he and Mrs Butler had ever been blessed he hoped his daughter would have been as vibrant as his mistress; her father did not deserve her.

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Jack stood with the registrar and Mac trying not to be nervous. Mrs Stanley was fluttering about around the guests, talking to Catherine and Elizabeth while little Mille stood quietly holding her mother's hand. Robert had his hand on Jackie's shoulder and Laurence stood close by. Jackie had been warned he was to be on his best behaviour and not to gorge himself on the buffet that was set out. He had grumbled and whined all week over the food he had been offered and had even refused to eat one day.

"Fine," his father huffed, "you will get it tomorrow. Many children in Collingwood would be more than happy with it. Miss Fisher grew up on such meals and she seems to have turned out quite healthy."

The following day the reheated potato and cabbage stew was put in front of him and the hungry little boy bolted it down too fast to taste it. His reward was a day old currant bun that the baker had been ready to throw out.

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Just before the appointed time and as the car was heard purring up the drive, Mrs Stanley clucked about asking everybody to kindly take their seats for the ceremony. Dot and Hugh went to the front of the house, Hugh nervously checking all his buttons were fastened and rubbing the toes of his shoes on the back of his trousers. He had not been keen on the idea, walking Miss Fisher down the aisle, until his wife reminded him of all the things Phryne had done for them.

"All you have to do is offer her your arm and walk with her to the Inspector," she had told him, "then go and sit with Jane."

"Where will Jane be?"

"Sitting with Mrs Stanley, and remember, Miss Fisher doesn't know we managed to organise getting Jane back in time, thanks to Cec and Bert."

Cec and Bert had collected Jane from the station the day before and taken her directly to Mrs Stanley's. They were to support Jack as he was not able to choose a best man. They had tossed for who was to look after the ring ; Cec had won and it sat in its little box in his trouser pocket.

"Alright, Inspector," Bert chuckled, "no going back now."

"And why would I think that, Albert," Jack huffed, "we all know I would have to go and hide in the jungle somewhere, and even then she'd find me."

"True, mate," Bert nodded, "very true."

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"Ready, Miss?" Hugh asked, feeling the light pressure on his arm.

"I am, Hugh," she smiled, "let's put the Inspector out of his misery, shall we?"

Everyone turned round as the music started, unconventional to the last, Phryne walked down the aisle to 'Let's Misbehave'. It had taken Dot, Mr Butler and Hugh nearly a week to come up with the most appropriate -inappropriate song that said something about Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson, but it was Hugh that mused one day that he had heard the Inspector whistling 'Let's Misbehave'.

Phryne tried to keep the smirk off her face as she thought of all the misbehaving they had already done, and that they would continue to do as they went through life together. She looked ahead at Jack, upright and freshly pressed in his navy blue suit and tie between the red raggers who had pulled out the stops and dressed neatly and soberly. Bert had even forsaken his customary cigarette.

She didn't recall the walk down to Jack, it all seemed to pass in a haze, but there she was, facing him, passing her bouquet to Dot as Hugh took her hand and placed it in Jack's.

They turned to face the registrar and the ceremony began.

Mrs Stanley dabbed her eyes as she listened to her niece promise herself to Jack Robinson, to love and honour him (but not obey) in sickness and in health, 'til death did them part. As Jack slid the fine gold ring onto Phryne's finger there was an outburst of spontaneous applause. He didn't need telling he could kiss the bride, that part he remembered and he took her in his arms and kissed her - rather too thoroughly for Aunt Prudence's liking.

"Wife," he teased.

"Husband," she smiled.

They turned to face the assembled friends and family their faces wreathed in smiles and Jane offering Aunt Prudence another handkerchief. Phryne spotted her and dragged Jack over to hug her and express how delighted and surprised she was to see her there.

"Mrs Collins and Mr Butler arranged it, Cec and Bert brought me over from the station yesterday," Jane filled her in with the details, "oh, Miss Phryne, I wouldn't have missed this for all the tea in China."

"Well, I am so very glad to see you here," Phryne hugged her again, then turned to her aunt, "and Aunt P, please, do stop weeping, this is a wedding, I order you to smile." She bent and kissed Mrs Stanley's cheek, "Thank you for letting us use the gardens."

"Oh Phryne," Prudence's voice wobbled, "I was worried, so untraditional, but, you know, I think it was a much prettier ceremony than Guy and Isabella's, but don't tell them that. So much more intimate. Welcome to the family, Inspector," she turned to Jack.

"Thank you Mrs Stanley, but, why don't you call me Jack, now," he bent and kissed her cheek.

"Only if you call me Aunt Prudence," she blushed.

"As you wish, Aunt Prudence," he smiled and she could see just what her niece saw in him.

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As they walked away to speak to the other guests Jack whispered in her ear.

"So, as I didn't attend Guy's wedding ..."

"Oh Jack, all the bells and whistles," she rolled her eyes, "at least six bridesmaids, four page boys, if I recall correctly. Isabella in the full white rig out, like a ship in full sail, Guy in top hat and tails, I found it rather vulgar, too ostentatious. Heaven alone knows how much her father spent."

"Roll on the christening, then," he murmured.

She giggled.

They were hugged and kissed by Jack's family, Mille told her new aunt she was even prettier but wanted to know when she was going to throw the bouquet. Catherine thought she may have seen or heard something at sometime.

"Well, Millie," Phryne bent down to her, "I'm not going to. I am going to give them to my sister, Janey, as she can't be here, today."

"Oh, ..." just as she was about to ask where she was Catherine drew her aside to explain. She remembered Jack telling them the story, when he had arrived at the house, tired and saddened.

Millie looked down, "that's not nice," she declared, "so Jackie," she turned to her brother, "now you know why you shouldn't run off." She nodded firmly. Catherine thought that for a seven year old, Millie was a very wise little girl.

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Jack and Phryne circulated amongst the guests while they ate. Jack ensured she always had a little something on her plate and something to drink. The buffet that Mr Butler and Mrs Stanley's cook had prepared catered to all tastes. There were Jack's favourite ham, cheese and mustard pickle sandwiches, quiches, pies, salads, fruit, cold meats, smoked salmon, sweet tartlets, small cakes, little meringues and the centre piece of a two tier wedding cake. The cake was decorated with white icing, silk flowers and tiny sugar-craft cars, gold pistols and handcuffs.

When it came time to cut the cake Mr Butler handed Jack and Phryne a large knife, especially polished and sharpened for the occasion.

"Seems a shame to cut it," Phryne sighed, "it's beautiful, Mr B, thank you so much."

"My pleasure Miss Fisher," he nodded.

Jack put his arm round her waist and settled his hand on her hip as they both took hold of the knife and sliced down then smiled at each other and kissed.

"You ok?" he asked.

"A little tired, I suppose," she murmured.

"Why don't I sneak you away for a nap?" he suggested, softly, "there are no speeches to sit through, I expressly forbade it."

"I'm so glad," she sighed, "that would probably be rather embarrassing."

"For you or me?" he smirked.

"Both, I suspect."

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He settled her down in the bed she usually occupied when staying with her aunt, and hung her dress up, leaving her under a light blanket in her underwear. He pulled the drapes over the window and slipped quietly out of the room, having promised to send Dot up in an hour to wake her and help her dress.

As Jack closed the door behind him Prudence accosted him.

"Jack, really?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Phryne is taking a nap, Aunt Prudence," he smiled, "really, she is a little tired."

"Tired? Phryne?" she pursed her lips.

Jack just shrugged and offered her his arm.

"Hm," she mused, "still, sorting out her father must have long term effects. Really, that man would try the patience of a saint."

"Indeed," he agreed, "now, I promised my wife I would send Dorothy to her in an hour, so I had better pass on the message."

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Dot knocked on the door an hour later bearing a tray of tea and a small plate of ginger biscuits. Phryne pushed herself up and smiled sleepily.

"Oh, lovely, Dot," she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, "just what I need."

"I thought you might, Mi ... er Madam," her companion blushed.

"Lord! Don't call me 'Madam'," Phryne laughed, "please, it makes me feel so old. Stick to Miss, if you must."

"Very well, Miss," silently Dot agreed, 'Madam' didn't fit right with Miss Fisher, "are you going to take the Inspector's name? I mean, should I refer to you as Mrs Robinson?"

"Only socially, Dot," she sipped the tea, "for cases I am still Miss Fisher."

"Right."

"How is young Jackie getting on, surrounded by all that lovely food?" Phryne nibbled a biscuit. "Bit unfair, really."

"His father has had him close by, but he didn't seem to be eyeing up the sweet treats too much. Well, not much more than your average nine year old, anyway," Dot smoothed an imaginary crease from the bedspread, "Master Laurence and Miss Millie have been perfectly well behaved. I think Mrs Stanley has rather taken to Miss Millie."

"She's a sweet little girl," Phryne agreed, "but I'm not sure what to make of Laurence, he's rather serious."

"He is, but I think he's at that age of being a little too grown up, or thinking he is," Dot nodded, "now Miss, would you like me to help you dress, again?"

"Please."

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Makeup repaired and her dress back on, Phryne went in search of her husband. They had agreed they would tell both his mother and her aunt about the child - or children - she carried, together. This was possibly the most nerve-wracking thing Phryne would do that day, Jack wasn't really looking forward to it, either, and he hope both women would understand their thinking. He steeled himself for some huffing and puffing and some disapproval from one or both of them, probably Mrs Stanley.

He turned and smiled, "Ah, there you are," he kissed her cheek, "alright?"

"Yes, thank you," she returned the greeting and slipped her hand into his, "Dot brought me some tea and biscuits."

"Well, I suppose you want to talk to your aunt and my mother now," he swallowed.

"Jack," she teased, "anyone would think we were about to admit to a murder," she giggled, "though maybe that would be easier."

Spotting Aunt Prudence talking to Elizabeth and Catherine, Phryne steered her husband over to them and tapped Prudence gently on the arm.

"Ladies," she smiled, "we wondered if we could have a word with you all, perhaps the drawing room, Aunt P?"

"Of course, dear," Prudence looked concerned, "is everything alright?"

"Yes, we would just like to talk to you, away from the guests," Jack offered his free arm to Mrs Stanley.

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On seeing Inspector and Mrs Robinson approach Mrs Stanley, Mr Butler headed into the house to collect a tray of light refreshments he had already prepared.

Phryne sank into the couch and motioned Jack to sit beside her. The other ladies picked chairs and sat waiting for one or the other of the newlyweds to speak. Mr Butler quietly set the tray on a small table by Mrs Stanley and left, just as quietly.

"So, Phryne," Prudence fiddled with the cups, equally as nervous as her niece, "what is so secret that you have to tell us here?"

"Well," Phryne looked up at Jack, "while I was away, while _we_ were away, I got to thinking, about the estate and how father is the last in line, and what a waste that was, that so many had died for him to live the life he always aspired to and I came to a decision."

"It did take two of us, darling," Jack linked his fingers through hers.

"True," she agreed, "but I have to do all the hard work." She turned back to the ladies, "that decision was that I would try to carry on the line, with the help of Jack, after all, as he just noted, it does take two."

"Phryne?" Mrs Stanley raised her eyebrows, "are you telling us you are ..." she waved her hand at Phryne's abdomen.

"In the family way?" Phryne grinned, "yes, Aunt P, about three months, possibly twins, Mac thinks so, anyway."

"Oh Jack!" Elizabeth leapt up and flung her arms round her brother, "and Phryne, that's wonderful, isn't it mother?"

"It's lovely, you will be wonderful parents," Catherine gasped, "and if there's anything I can do to help you, Phryne, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Catherine, I was hoping you would help Mac, when the time comes, I want a home birth," Phryne was relieved at least two of the ladies weren't horrified that she had done things the wrong way round. Perhaps she should speak to Prudence alone, afterwards.

"I shall speak to Dr Macmillan," she agreed, "we shall come up with a plan, the three of us."

"You're in good hands, Phryne," Elizabeth reached over and squeezed her hand, "mother attended all my children's births."

Prudence held her council, for now. They sat and drank tea and talked about what had happened in England and how Phryne had sorted out the estate and dealt with her father. She saw the difference between Isabella and Phryne. How as soon as Isabella had found out she was with child she had started organising, in between bouts of dramatic declarations that she should not do certain things, demanded certain foods and swooning episodes. In spite of her feelings about Phryne having to get married, Phryne was the better woman, stronger, more sensible, objective; though she worried she would be climbing walls and chasing criminals around the streets of Melbourne in the hours before she gave birth.

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Jack escorted his mother and sister back out to the guests, leaving Phryne to talk to her aunt. Catherine wanted to speak to Mac but the news was not to be broadcast, those who should know, did, now.

"Well, Phryne," Prudence started, but Phryne put her hand up.

"I'm sorry Aunt Prudence," she sighed, "I know you are disappointed that we didn't wait, but, well, we weren't sure it would happen and so wanted to be sure I could conceive first. You know I never wanted to commit myself to one man, not after Rene, and Jack understood, he and Rosie never had children ..."

Prudence touched her hand, "Phryne, my dear girl, disappointed? No, not that. You frighten me, worry me and there are times I have not approved of your lifestyle, but, my darling girl, I have never, ever, been disappointed in you. You are strong and beautiful, clever and kind. I am very proud to say you are my niece and, like Catherine and Elizabeth, if I can help at all, you must tell me."

Phryne was so shocked she burst into tears. Prudence wrapped her arms round her and drew her to her ample bosom, stroked her head and kissed her. She had always loved Margaret's girls, they would play with Arthur and keep him from the snide remarks of his brother, sneak him the sweet treats he was not supposed to have, and she had never found it in herself to be cross with them. Guy was her son and she did love him but somehow Phryne was altogether a much better advert for the younger generation.

Phryne pulled away and took the offered handkerchief.

"Now, go and wash your face, put your makeup back on and we shall see you out in the garden," Prudence gave her one last kiss to the cheek and patted her hand.

"Thank you, Aunt P," Phryne whispered.

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Phryne sat in front of the mirror and sighed, who knew Aunt Prudence, that doyenne of Melbourne society, would be so relaxed about her becoming pregnant before getting married, and the reasons they had given. She had often wondered, to herself, if once she had committed to Jack she would have bothered with the device and just taken whatever life had thrown at them, taken the risk that she may have a child. It was never anything she had wanted, not even after allowing Jane to steal her heart. Perhaps it was because she knew Jack would never abuse her or take her for granted, that he appreciated her intelligence or perhaps it was just because ...

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"Hello, sweetheart," Jack reached out his hand for her, "I wondered where you had got to."

"Just tidying myself up, darling," she squeezed his hand.

"Your aunt was worried she had upset you."

"No, well not the way she usually does. She was perfectly sweet about everything, and I found it a bit overwhelming, truth be told," she smiled, "but I must admit I would like to go home now, by way of Janey."

"Well, as the newlyweds, I believe we are allowed to leave the party first," he agreed, "let's tell Prudence we are leaving and sneak away, eh?"

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"So," Jack started to take the car down the drive, "what did your aunt say, that overwhelmed you?"

"She just said she was proud that I was her niece and that I had never disappointed her even if I did frighten her and she didn't always approve of my lifestyle," it came out in a bit of a rush.

Jack whistled, "quite an endorsement coming from her."

"Yes, and she didn't even ask if I had told my parents."

"Talking of which ..."

"Not yet, mother will want to come over, which means she will bring father and I may not survive that."

"I doubt he would," he laughed, "now, if I park here we can take a gentle stroll to Janey."

"Thank you for doing this, Jack," she took his arm, "it means a lot."

"You've seen how close Elizabeth and I are, I think you and Janey were similar."

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She placed the bouquet on the corner of Janey's stone. "I brought you my bouquet, Janey, as you couldn't attend my wedding. I'm going to have twins, well we think it's twins, and I shall tell them all about you when they are old enough to understand. I expect you are having a bit of a laugh at me, pregnant and married, you would be a far better mother than I ever shall be but I will try my best and this man, by my side; his name is Jack; will help me. If he doesn't you have my permission to haunt him."

Jack put his arm round her shoulders and squeezed her tight, "I'll look out for her, Janey, but you know how strong-willed she is so I expect us to have a few battles of will over the years. She has grown into an exceptional young woman and I am still surprised she would take on a serious Police Inspector, but she has and you would be very proud of her, I'm sure."

Phryne put her head against his chest and sniffed.

"Come on, love," he kissed the top of her head, "time to go home."

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Jackie was relieved to get home. He had done his best but all that lovely food had been very tempting. He supposed he had been lucky that his parents has still agreed to let him attend his uncle's wedding. His punishment, to eat like a Collingwood kid from years ago, had been harsh, in his opinion, and he really didn't believe that the wealthy and pretty Miss Fisher had lived there when she was a child, it was just a story to get him to behave. He and his siblings had been told to go and change into their nightwear and then they could go downstairs and have a glass of milk and a biscuit. One biscuit! How was that supposed to keep him going until breakfast. His stomach rumbled.

He dragged himself into the living room where Millie was telling her mother how pretty Aunt Phryne looked and how nice Mrs Stanley had been to her.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, darling," Elizabeth brushed her hair and tied it into a long plait. "Laurence?"

"It was a lovely day, mother," the oldest of the Heston children agreed, "and I think she will make Uncle Jack a lot happier that Aunt Rosie did."

Robert looked over the top of the newspaper at this declaration, an insightful boy, he thought. He hadn't been particularly close to Rosie, constantly pushing his brother in law to fight for promotion when he could see that Jack was just where he should be. He was a darn good detective and Melbourne needed more like him than the George Sandersons of this world who seemed to think the law was not for them - white slavery indeed!

"Now then, Jackie," his father grumbled, "any thoughts on today?"

"Why did you tell me Aunt Phryne used to live in Collingwood and ate cabbage?" he pouted.

"Because it is true, dear," his mother smiled, "until her father became a Baron and they went to England that is where she lived. She wasn't born wealthy but now things have changed for her she still remembers where she came from and life is not easy for everybody."

He huffed and sat down on the couch.

"Drink your milk, Jackie," his father nodded at the glass on the small table, "and you may have a biscuit. You ate well today and were well behaved."

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Jackie tossed and turned convinced he would starve before the morning. He bet Uncle Jack and Aunt Phryne hadn't made do with a glass of milk and one biscuit, they probably had a huge feast before they went to bed.

He was right in one way, the new Mr and Mrs Robinson had not made do with a glass of milk and a biscuit. Phryne wasn't particularly hungry, nor was Jack, but Mr Butler had left a tray of cheeses, biscuits, grapes and apples ready on the cold stone in the pantry. It was enough, washed down with fruit juice. Jack had said he wouldn't drink if she wasn't and although Mac hadn't told her she shouldn't in her current condition, she thought perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea and anyway she had lost her taste for it.

They tidied up the plates and glasses, deciding it wasn't fair to leave them for Mr B and Dot, and Jack took her up to bed.

He helped her undress, kissing the parts he uncovered then let her undress him, smiling as she dropped his clothes on the floor then pulled him into a long, passionate kiss. They stood there, naked, his hardness pressed up against her stomach, kissing, tasting each other, their hands sliding up and down each other's bodies until Jack lifted her up and carried her to the bed.

They made long, leisurely love until they fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

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Jackie waited until he knew the household were asleep. His stomach was so empty the rumbling was deafening - to him anyway. He tiptoed out of the bedroom he shared with Laurence and down the back stairs to the kitchen ... at least that was his plan. It was all going quite well; he passed his parents' room and Millie's without apparently waking anybody, then started to creep down the stairs. In the dark he had to feel each step with his bare feet, sliding each one over the edge of the stair before stepping down. He had got less than halfway down when he felt something furry touch his ankle. He stiffened, willing himself not to cry out and moved just a touch to one side. That was his undoing. In trying to avoid what turned out to be Millie's dropped teddy bear, he stumbled and fell, hitting each step with his head and then his bottom, his back and his front, his legs and his arms. The noise woke everybody and when they discovered the inert figure of their son at the bottom of the stairs Elizabeth gasped, Millie squealed and the cook screamed.

"Robert call a doctor, Dr Macmillan if you can," Elizabeth knew that panicking would do her son no good, "cook, stop screaming and get a blanket, I need to keep him warm."

"Mumma," Millie whispered, "is he going to be dead?"

Children, Elizabeth mused, always came to the point. She passed her fingers over Jackie's neck and let out a breath.

"No, darling, he isn't," though she knew there was always a possibility he would not survive such a fall. He must have hit his head several times, and his back, all sorts of possible results came to her mind, but she pushed them aside - Jackie would be alright.

Robert appeared at her side and let her know that Dr Macmillan was on her way.

"She was surprised that we would call her, after all we do have a doctor we usually use," he knelt beside her, "I called your mother, to come and sit with Laurence and Millie, while we go to the hospital."

"Thank you," she reached round and squeezed his hand. "I think he may have been on his way to the kitchen, for a snack."

"Elizabeth," Robert grunted, "what is all this obsession with food? Why does he think he is being starved?"

"I don't know, Robert, I really don't," she sighed and leant against his knee. "He never seems to be satisfied, it's as if he doesn't have that 'full feeling'."

"We need to get to the bottom of this," he straightened his back, "there's nothing worse than being the roly-poly at school."

Elizabeth looked at her husband, she hadn't known him when he was a child, they met quite by chance when he came into the office where she worked. He was lost and she escorted him to the department he should have been in. He had thanked her and asked her her name, so as he may let the management know what a treasure they had in her. She had blushed but passed on the information and thought no more about it. That was of no consequence at the moment, they had courted and married and were very happy. It would seem Robert had his own battles with food, but now he was tall and strong with not an ounce of spare fat on him.

"We'll talk later," she smiled as best she could under the circumstances.

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Mac arrived and gently but thoroughly examined the unconscious boy, noting his pupil reactions, the bruises that were beginning to appear and his unconscious reactions to nerve stimulation. His foot twitched when she tickled the sole, a good sign she noted.

An ambulance was sent for and arrived at the same time as Catherine. Jackie was gently loaded onto a stretcher and his parents got in with him. Catherine stood at the front door with the other two children and watched the vehicle head slowly down the road, as Mac has asked. She didn't want him jolted or bumped until she had had chance to take x-rays.


	14. Chapter 14

Elizabeth and Robert sat by their son's bed, watching him for any sign he was going to wake up. Occasionally Robert paced the room and stared out of the window, asking why his son was like this, had they done something wrong. Mac, as she checked his vital signs, mused that it was good he thought it wasn't all Elizabeth's fault. In fact, from what little she knew of the family, she doubted it was anything they had, or hadn't done, that was the cause, it had to be some outside influence. Until Jackie woke up they would have to wait.

The x-rays showed some cracked ribs, a broken wrist and dislocated kneecap, all of which Mac dealt with.

"He's a lucky little lad," she told them, washing the plaster off her hands, "there is no damage to the skull or spine that I can see. He should make a full recovery."

"If only we knew why he is so ... so ..." Elizabeth ran her hands through her hair, "he didn't used to be so greedy."

"When did it start, this need to eat so much?" Mac sat on the edge of the bed.

"About a year ago, I suppose," Robert pulled a chair next to his wife, "we found him sneaking biscuits after a sports day, at school. He hadn't done particularly well, not sporty isn't Jackie ..."

"Comfort eating," Mac nodded.

"He doesn't like going the days they do sports," Elizabeth echoed his thoughts.

"Children can be cruel," Mac offered, she had had a little experience of this, as an academic child herself.

"Hm," Robert sighed, "perhaps I should get in touch with the school ..."

"We need to tell them he won't be there, for a while," Elizabeth squeezed his hand.

"Quite, but I think I'll have a word with his teachers."

Mac was silently applauding the man for stepping up as a father. So often things like this were left to the mothers, childrearing was a woman's job, apparently.

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Phryne sighed and stretched. Yesterday had seemed like a dream but gazing at her left hand, she knew it was all very real. Of course the gentle snores from next to her were something of a confirmation of this. She slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom to deal with her bladder, which didn't seem to have the room it once did. Her belly was definitely rounder than before and dressing carefully would be one of her priorities, she wasn't sure she wanted the whole world to know just yet.

She returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed. She had so much to do, she thought: writing to all who had attended the wedding, phoning Aunt Prudence to thank her for allowing them to use the house and gardens and arranging a time to meet with Mac, Elizabeth and Catherine. She had to be prepared for the coming months, she had no idea what to expect. But first ... breakfast, she smiled as her stomach rumbled.

Behind her Jack was watching her, or rather staring at her back, beautiful and smooth, creamy skin, elegant and he had some decidedly impure thoughts. He moved across the bed as carefully as he could and started to kiss her spine, from the very bottom moving upwards.

She shuddered, groaned with pleasure and arched backwards. He smirked.

"Jack," she breathed, "oh, Jack."

"Morning," he was at the nape of her neck but just as he nipped her earlobe her stomach rumbled rather loudly.

He laughed out loud and hugged her, "alright, breakfast, I suppose. I must learn to be a more solicitous husband."

"Sorry, darling, but you know what happens if I ignore the hunger pangs." She pouted, it would be nice to fool around first but if they did that she would end up feeling sick and the rest of the day would be miserable.

"Of course, come on," he stood up and passed her her robe. "We can dress later." He pulled his on and headed into the bathroom.

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The kitchen was eerily quiet without Mr Butler and Dot pottering about but it would appear they had decided the give the newlyweds a little space on their first morning as man and wife.

Jack found eggs, bacon and tomatoes in the fridge, Phryne took the bread out and sliced it thickly for toast. While Jack was used to preparing his own meals, and was a passable cook, he found it strange that Phryne knew her way round a kitchen, but then she hadn't always had staff to do things for her.

They ate in the kitchen, Phryne told him all she wanted to do that day in the way of phone calls and letter writing.

"We can do the letters together, love," he smiled, "I'll write some and we can both sign them."

"Lovely," she took her plate to the sink, enjoying this little bit of domesticity. As she started to run the water into the bowl the phone rang.

"You get that," he stood up thinking it would be one of her friends, "I'll start these."

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She sat down with a bump on the stair as Mac told her what had happened during the night.

"Oh god," she put her hand over her mouth, "poor little boy. You're sure he'll be alright?"

"When he comes round I'll know more," Mac sighed, "and maybe we can find out why he does this."

"Robert and Elizabeth ..?"

"Have been by his side all night. Catherine is looking after the other two."

"We'll get dressed and head over to the hospital," Phryne inhaled and stood up, "will you be there?"

"I'm going over after I've seen what's on my list at the Women's," Mac confirmed, "the General can ring me if they need to."

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He wrapped his soapy hands round her, "what's the matter, Phryne," he pulled a chair out for her, she was so pale and near to tears, "Phryne?"

"Jackie," she whispered, her throat tight, "he ... he went on a midnight sortie for snacks, they think. He fell down the stairs."

Jack sat down on a chair and ran his hands through his hair.

"Is he...?"

"No, unconscious, no damage to his head, Mac says, Robert called her ... he's in the General ...Jack?" she leant against him.

"Right, well, sorry love ..."

"Of course we're going, Mac will be there later ..." she pushed off him, "let's get dressed."

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Jack didn't mind she drove over the speed limit, not this time, his only thought was to get to the hospital, even if all he could do was offer a shoulder to his sister.

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"Jack!" Elizabeth looked up, "how did you know?"

"Mac phoned," he kissed her cheek and shook Robert's hand.

"She shouldn't have," Robert offered his hand to Phryne, "you only got married yesterday."

"Family comes first, Robert," Phryne sat on the edge of the bed, "and Mac knows what I would say if she kept it from me." She looked at the child in the bed, noted his pale face and the bruise on his cheek, "down the stairs, eh?"

"Yes, we believe he was on the way to the kitchen for a midnight snack and tripped," Elizabeth stroked her son's hand, "there was no light on, I expect because he didn't want anyone to know."

"Highly likely," Phryne agreed, "now, I doubt you two have had any breakfast. Off you go, We'll stay here with Master Jackie ..."

"We're fine," Robert wasn't sure how he felt about this woman taking over though she was right, they had only had a cup of hospital tea.

"Sure you are," Jack smiled softly, "but you are no good to Jackie if you start fainting through lack of sustenance. Jackie knows me, should he wake up."

Elizabeth reluctantly stood up, Jack had always been the rational one and she would like to wash her face and perhaps change out of the hastily thrown on blouse and skirt. She bent over and kissed her son's forehead, telling him she would be back shortly.

"Uncle Jack and Aunt Phryne are here, sweetheart, perhaps you'd like to talk to them."

Phryne was sure she saw a momentary change in the boy's breathing, one she recognised from years ago. When an unconscious patient fleetingly becomes conscious. Once they had left the room she stood up and went to the end of the bed, where she stood with her hands on her hips.

"Right, Jackie, time to wake up!" she pinched his toes. "Your parents have gone to eat breakfast and change so now's the time to get whatever it is off your chest."

Jack bit his lip to stop the smirk, only Phryne would think that a good talking to would wake an unconscious person.

"You can't fool me, Jackie," she continued, "I saw you, when your mother said we were here, you nearly opened your eyes."

She waited, Jack watched.

One eye opened, then the other and he was staring right into Phryne's face. She didn't look angry, perhaps sad or worried, but not angry. He turned his head and saw Uncle Jack, with his arms folded and a grim look on his face. He thought Aunt Phryne would probably be the easier one to talk to. She moved to sit on one side of the bed, Jack sat on the other; even if he could move without pain he wouldn't be able to get out of bed, they had him pinned down by the bed-sheets.

"So, young man," Phryne lowered her voice and it became softer, "what brought this on, eh? Sneaking out of bed for a midnight snack."

"Hungry," he murmured.

"Now or then?"

"Both," he sniffed.

"Well, I'm sure we can arrange a light breakfast for you," she looked over at Jack and he nodded.

"I'll just go and see if someone can help," he squeezed his nephew's hand and left the room.

"Right, my lad," Phryne turned back to the boy, "now's the time to speak up, just you and me. I don't believe you're hungry all the time, I think you're eating because you're upset about something."

He looked at her.

"I like a chocolate or two, if I'm a bit bored, or someone's made me cross," she thought it was the least of her vices, saying she could drink a large whisky when she was angry was not the best example she could give. He might think his uncle had married a drunk.

"The others, at school," he sniffed and eyed her warily, "they make fun of me, 'cos I can't run fast."

"Eating your weight in biscuits isn't going to help, is it?" she noted. "Do you have a bicycle?"

"No."

Would you like one?" she ran a scenario through her head, "your Uncle Jack used to ride, a lot, he could teach you."

"He's always at work."

"Not always," she shook her head, "I'm sure he could arrange a couple of hours each week to go for a cycle ride with you. Just the two of you and one of Mr Butler's picnics."

"What about you?"

"I'm sure I can find something to do that Uncle Jack would be bored by," she smiled, "I could get to know your mother better, and your grandmother, visit my dressmaker."

"Oh," he screwed his eyes up, he never saw his parents do anything separately, when his father wasn't at work.

"Of course, you have to recover from this first, and no more midnight wanderings."

"S'ppose so," he muttered.

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Jack had taken his time finding someone who could offer a breakfast to Jackie. He'd bumped into Mac and she assured him that the injuries weren't life threatening though when he said he'd left Phryne talking to the boy she suggested that was more dangerous than anything.

"She's probably volunteered me for something," he grinned, "knowing her. Seriously though, doctor, I think she may get through to him better than a family member."

"Possibly," she nodded, "well, I'll go and see how he is, and this nurse," she grabbed a passing nurse, "will find some scrambled eggs and toast for the little scamp."

"Thanks, Mac," he took her hand, "and thanks for looking after him last night."

"My pleasure, Inspector," she patted his arm and headed towards the room where Jackie was talking to his Aunt.

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"So, is that a deal then?" Phryne was offering him her hand, "no more midnight snacks and I'll buy you a bicycle."

"Deal," he shook her hand.

"So what else is it that makes you eat so many biscuits?" She turned round at the sound of the door, "it can't just be because the others tease you about being a slow runner."

"I hate school," he screwed up his face, "the boys are rude to me because father owns his own company and works."

"I see," Mac sat down on the bed, "I had that too, got into a good school on a scholarship but the ones that had their fees paid for them looked down their noses at me."

"And me, for the accent, when I went to school in England."

Jackie looked from one to the other, never imagining that a women doctor and a wealthy lady like his new aunt would have the same troubles as him, at school.

"What did you do?"

"Me?" Mac raised her eyebrows, "studied like a thing possessed, I was going to be the best, at everything. I only stumbled with art and games, but I was really good at the sciencey stuff, and mathematics."

"I was good at languages, and tennis," Phryne joined in, "I had some close friends and we looked out for the younger ones who got bullied by the bigger girls. I also loved to read and found all the best books in the library, including the ones that translated bad words into other languages."

"Bet you were a demon with a hockey stick," Mac murmured.

"Lethal!" Phryne laughed, "honestly, Jackie, we know what it's like. You should be proud of your father, without his company all those people who work for him would be on the streets, with no homes or food. He's a good man, you just have to do your best at the things you are good at, and keep out of the way in the things you struggle with."

They could both see him mulling this over, they didn't have to get cross with him, just explain that not all things are simple.

"Right, young man," Mac stood up and looked at his chart, "let's have a look at that wrist and that knee. Got to get them healed before you take to cycling."

Jack entered carrying a tray of eggs and toast for the boy, and a glass of milk, and tea for himself and his wife. He had also asked for a cup for the doctor.

Phryne and Mac shifted Jackie up the bed, accompanied by squeaks of discomfort, and placed the tray in front of him. Jack put the tea on the locker at the side of the bed and the four of them sat together, chatting quite amiably about things they had done during their schooldays.

"Aunt Phryne says she'll buy me a bicycle and you can take me cycling, Uncle Jack," Jackie blurted out, "you will, won't you?" He was worried this was Phryne's idea and not Jack's, which was true.

"I'm sure I can arrange a suitable time to do so," Jack nodded, though he was taken by surprise, still he supposed it was a good thing to do, keep the boy out of the biscuit tin and trim him down a bit. "Are you going to join us, Phryne?" he smirked.

"Jack! heavens no!" she squealed, "I shall get to know your sister and mother better, perhaps visit Madame Fleuri."

"I'll get you on a bicycle one day," he laughed.

"Huh!" she tossed her head, not if she had her way.

By the time Robert and Elizabeth returned Jackie was considerably cheered by his talk with his uncle and aunt and the prospect of cycling with Jack. Mac said she wanted him to stay in hospital for a week, just to make sure there were no underlying injuries but after that she would be happy to visit him at home and advise on his continuing care.

"I'll bring you some books to read," his mother suggested, "anything in particular?"

"Don't suppose I can have the latest 'Hardy Boys' story, can I?" Jackie did think this was a step too far, in his parents' generosity, but it was a book he coveted, he had all the others.

"Like a detective story do you?" Phryne smiled.

"I have all the others," he gave a lopsided grin due to the bruise on his cheek.

"Well, if it will keep you quiet," Robert sighed.

"Thank you, father," Jackie smiled.

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"If there's anything you or he need," Phryne kissed Elizabeth's cheek, "please let me know."

"You've done so much already," Elizabeth whispered, "getting him to open up."

"That's my charming freight train," Jack laughed softly, "disarms the toughest."

Phryne nudged him and leant her head on his shoulder.

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Phryne visited Jackie daily, taking Jack if he could take time away from City South. She got the boy to open up in a way he could never do to his parents, because, as Jack told her one evening, "you listen, really listen."

"That school, Jack," she sipped her fruit juice, "I'm not sure it's the right one for him. The boys there are quite catty."

"Really?"

"When I went to school in England I was a target for the cattier girls. My accent, the fact that I started out in a slum area ... a particular group would make my bed an apple pie bed, literally, put spiders on my pillow, hide one of my stockings ... I could go on."

"So ... I take it you didn't have a parent who would sort it out for you?"

"Hah!" she snorted, "no chance. I had to do it myself."

"Go on," he sat back, "I'm listening."

She told him the story of doing one of the girls' French translation and using a dictionary she had found in the library. The French mistress had been furious in the extreme with the girls, but not with Phryne whose translation was perfect, if her handwriting wasn't.

"Why am I not surprised?" he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"You know, I could help Jackie do something similar, perhaps. He's not unintelligent ... and I bet some of those other boys are riding on their father's coat tails," she tipped her head and widened her eyes.

"Don't," he shook his head, "I was thinking about visiting, in my position as a senior law enforcement officer. Something along the lines of respecting others, honesty ... that sort of thing."

"Let's wait until he goes back to school, shall we?" she sat back against the couch, and he put his arm round her, "no point in doing something until then."

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As Jackie's recovery progressed Phryne took Jack to look at bicycles for him.

"He's quite excited about it," she stopped the car outside one shop, "and he seems to have stopped worrying about starving."

"Well, he can't get to the kitchen on his own, yet, and he's not at school so he isn't being teased. I suppose you and Mac were right, and with your experiences helped him see not everybody has a wonderful time at school," he agreed, "now, when we've chosen a bike for him, how about one for you," he teased.

She glared at him, "the guest room is unoccupied at the moment, _husband._ "

"Perhaps after the babies are born," he looked down to the now visible shape of her pregnancy.

She snorted with derision, but she knew it would be a while before he gave up on this.

He stopped teasing her and they spent a happy half hour choosing a bright red bicycle for Jackie which Jack said was just right as he arranged for it to be delivered and Phryne paid. She said it was from her, that was the original bargain with the boy.

"But he is my nephew," he grunted.

"Mine by marriage, and anyway, if he wasn't you know I'd still do it, a deal is a deal, Jack," she huffed.

"As you wish," he sighed.

"I do."

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As Jackie had just about recovered and Mac had said it was acceptable, Jack took him for his first cycling lesson. They had had a go in the garden at home and Jackie had soon overcome his nerves and wobbled less and less.

"Right, Jackie," his uncle smiled, "how about we give it a go in the park, just a short ride, don't want to upset that knee, do we?"

Phryne said she would meet them there, with a picnic, and a first aid kit.

"Ha ha!" Jack kissed her.

"Not for you," she tutted, "for Jackie, just in case."

He tipped his head and pulled a sweater on. It was so rare Phryne saw him in less than his three piece suit, during the day, she took a few seconds to admire him. He wore knickerbockers so his shapely calves were on show, the ones she had run her toes down, that morning.

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She found a shady spot where she could spread out the blanket and watch her husband and Jackie pedal around. She had to admit, Jackie had taken well to cycling, already, and she laughed to herself as he tried to out ride his uncle.

They were on their way to her when she heard a shout:

"Hey! Hefty Heston, careful you don't bend the bike!"

Jackie was well in front of his uncle and wobbled off his bicycle.

Phryne jumped up and ran over to him, "Jackie!" she called, "are you alright?"

"I'm ok, Aunt Phryne," he pushed himself up and dusted his knickerbockers down.

"Aunt?" the boy who had shouted looked her up and down, "well we see where you get the weight from," he was brave, surrounded by his friends.

Phryne looked just about to explode but Jackie turned round and felled the boy with an impressive right hook.

"Don't you ever speak to my Aunt like that," he snapped, "she is a lot better than you, Corton ..."

"Hey!" a voice came from behind her, "what's going on? Did you hit my boy?" The owner of the voice, a large man wearing an extremely expensive suit stepped up to Corton, now sporting a bloody nose.

"Yes, he did," Jack arrived, "and with good reason."

"What reason?" Corton's father huffed.

"Ungentlemanly behaviour," Jack drew himself up, "I heard your son insult my wife."

Corton's little group of friends melted away, his father could deal with this man.

"What?"

"He referred to my shape as overweight," Phryne sniffed and stood with her hands on her hips, "and called my nephew 'Hefty'. He suggested a family trait."

"Is this the boy that calls you names, at school, Jackie?" Jack put his hand on his nephew's shoulder.

"Him and the others, Uncle Jack," Jackie nodded, "but they shouldn't say things like that to a lady."

"You are?" Mr Corton looked at Jack, ignoring the 'little woman' now at his side.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police, my wife," he gestured to her, "the Honourable Phryne Robinson."

Mr Corton swallowed, his son had just insulted a member of the British aristocracy. He glared at Corton junior.

"But father," he hissed, "she has no servants to serve her picnic."

"I am perfectly capable of opening a picnic hamper," Phryne tossed her head.

"Perhaps you should take your son home and teach him some manners," Jack growled, "now, we came here for a quiet time with our nephew after his accident ..."

"Yes, of course," Mr Corton stuttered, "my apologies for my son's rudeness."

Phryne huffed, it was Corton junior who should be apologising, she wondered what Mrs Corton was like.

Over the course of the picnic Jack and Phryne got the names of the other boys in Corton's cohort out of Jackie.

"Corton's father has his own money," Jackie mumbled through a mouthful of Mr Butler's quiche, "this is lovely, he doesn't work, at all."

"And the others?" Phryne nibbled a strawberry, "do their fathers have independent means?"

"What's that mean?"

"It means they have family money and don't have to work for it," Jack poured a glass of lemonade for his wife and Jackie, "they generally live off the interest or the earnings of that money."

Jackie thought it all sounded rather complicated but he got the gist of it, "well," he tipped his head in thought, "some of them own companies, like father, but none of them go to the office, they have managers to see to everything."

"Surely they meet with the managers to check everything is as it should be?" Phryne wondered at this cavalier attitude to business.

"Dunno," Jackie shrugged, "all I know is they think father is beneath them because he does go out every day."

Phryne thought she'd be bored out of her mind if she didn't have her business, if she sat at home and entertained other ladies to tea all the time.

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Jackie wasn't looking forward to going back to school.

"Look, son," Robert took him aside in the study the night before, "don't worry. I'm sure the incident in the park has got round, Corton and his friends will have seen to that, but you stood up for your aunt, and I'm proud of you for that."

"But, father, what if they're rude about her again?"

"Perhaps you could tell them that she is going to have a baby, you remember what your mother looked like before Millie was born." Dangerous territory, Robert knew, Jackie was a curious boy at the best of times, and he had spent rather a lot of time with Phryne. "You could also remind them that your uncle is a high ranking police officer ..."

Jackie grinned at this, "could I tell them he could arrest them, for being rude?"

"I don't think that's a crime, son," Robert laughed, "but I'm sure you'll think of something."

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Jackie decided the best option he had was to avoid Corton and his cronies if at all possible. Corton was an insufferable snob and his little gang followed him around like lost puppies. Jackie had become quite proficient at cycling with his uncle's encouragement and his aunt turning up with a picnic. He had wanted to cycle to school but his father put his foot down about that for two reasons: one; he didn't want his son getting hurt in the traffic and two; he was not sure there was any place to store the bike, safely, so Jackie went to school in the car with his brother.

Jackie's few friends were delighted to see him back at school. He told them all about his uncle's wedding and his new aunt, about the bicycle and the altercation with Corton in the park.

"I mean," he huffed, "you shouldn't speak to any lady like that but my aunt is an Honourable, her father is a Baron in England." He pushed his chest out with pride, "and she's not at all stuffy."

"Watch it," William Hart hissed, "Corton approaches."

They wandered off, still talking about Phryne as Jackie detailed the picnics she had brought to the park.

"So, what'cha goin' to do?" William muttered, "y'know, about Corton?"

"Ignore him, Uncle Jack says it's the best way, don't start fights with him," Jackie grunted, "I don't think his father was too impressed with him insulting my aunt."

"My dad'd skin me alive if I said anything rude to any lady," Nigel Frost nodded, "he says it's not the sign of a gentleman and no amount of money excuses it."

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Jackie was right about Corton's father, he had dragged his son back home that day and told him he was to stay away from the Heston boy.

"He has friends, influential friends," he glared at him, "and you have not been brought up to be rude, to anyone, much less a woman."

"I didn't know she was nobility," Corton junior sniffed.

"They don't wear a crown, you dope," his father hissed, "and it doesn't matter who she is, she is a lady and you do not insult ladies, _any_ ladies."

His son pouted and shoved his hands in his pockets. He'd find a way to get back at Hefty Heston.

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Phryne didn't find the pregnancy hampered her detecting at all, to begin with. She felt well, ate well and ignored the growing waistline. Jack had to pull her back numerous times and remind her she was not alone.

"I always thought being pregnant meant sitting at home, waiting," she sighed one afternoon, "not being able to do anything, except knit. I'm sorry Jack, I just ... forget."

"That's ok, Phryne," he reached across his desk and squeezed her hand, "I'd rather you take it that way than be like Isabella, but ... sweetheart ... you must be careful."

"I know," she smiled, "and I will, the most dangerous thing I need to do is furnish the nursery."

"Lord help the furniture sellers," he looked up to the ceiling, "and on that subject, do you want a nanny, or a wet nurse?"

"Oh," she raised her eyebrows, "who's been studying, then?"

"Ha ha, I spoke to Elizabeth, thought it would take her mind off Jackie," he grinned, "this is a joint venture, wife."

"You know what, Jack," she sashayed round his desk, " I'm not really sure, yet," she was on his knee, "perhaps I should see how she coped?"

"Why not, eh?" he kissed her shoulder, the nearest thing to his lips, "I'm sure she will give you the most practical advice."

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Elizabeth had given some thought to her brother's request, that she council his wife about her pregnancy and the subsequent birth and care of their children. He did not doubt that Phryne was more than capable of caring for children, but he knew that she would need support - he hesitated to call it help -both before and after the birth. Elizabeth thought she would start by meeting her new sister in law for tea.

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Phryne felt oddly nervous at meeting Elizabeth for tea that day. Jackie was fully recovered and cycling with his uncle two or three times a week when work allowed which meant she saw less of Jack's family than she had done. They still kept in touch, regular phone calls and the odd shopping trip but that was all. Isabella had given birth to the next generation of Stanley's, a boy, Leonard, and Prudence was going around with a big smile on her face. She had set aside a room especially for him when he came to visit and Phryne hadn't the heart to tell her it was going to be a while.

Elizabeth immediately put her sister in law at ease, thanking her for all she had done for Jackie and that he was now able to deal with Corton and his friends.

"I'm glad," Phryne smiled, "I don't know the Cortons and from meeting him in the park I think I'm rather glad."

"Oh, she's alright, a little fluffy thing," Elizabeth poured tea, "I think he rather bullies her and that's where his son gets it from. We had tea together when the boys started school, I think she wanted to find like-minded friends, another mother to talk to, but she seemed to be constantly worried about whether or not she was getting it 'right', if you get my drift."

"I do, I think," Phryne nodded, "not born to it."

"No, now," Elizabeth passed her a plate, "help yourself, and we shall talk about you."

"Oh," Phryne thought she was so like Jack, cutting to the chase, "what do you want to know?"

"I know where you come from, your history, Jack has told me enough of that, " she sat back in her seat, "no, I want to know if I can help you, in any way."

"You know this," she gestured to her baby bump, "was never something I planned, I er ... I never wanted children, don't know the first thing about them."

"Hm," her sister in law thought for a moment, "well, I wouldn't worry about that, nobody does until they have one, not really. They don't come with a user's manual, like a car, and if you haven't been around babies or small children it can be a bit frightening - that they are totally dependent on you. Jack hinted that you were thinking of a nanny."

"He did suggest it," she agreed, "I suppose it would be a good idea, given my lifestyle, but it is my child ... my cousin's wife has just had a baby and she has a wet nurse and a nanny."

"If I were you I would try and feed it yourself," Elizabeth leant forward, "it's not painful and they do say it is rather good for you, too."

"Really?" Phryne's eyes widened. "How so?"

"Helps you recover quicker, and to be honest it is more painful if you don't, waiting for your milk to dry up," she winced, "I couldn't feed Laurence myself, it was a difficult birth ... that's by the by," Elizabeth shrugged, "he's fine, I was fine for Jackie and Millie."

"Isabella is whining about the recovery, perhaps that's why, if she has a wet nurse," Phryne mused, "Aunt P is desperate for them to come over, so she can meet her grandson but I fear it is going to be some time."

"Oh dear," Elizabeth sighed, "poor Prudence. Anyway, what about the nursery? Have you started furnishing yet?"

"The room across from ours," Phryne began to relax, she had been expecting scare stories but it would seem Elizabeth was just trying to tell her she was there should she need any help, "bassinets by our bed for the first few weeks?" she looked up with the question on her face.

"Perfect."

"Do you think I should give birth at home?" She asked, "only Mac would like me to go into hospital, as we think it's twins, but I don't know, they always seem so impersonal."

"Up to you," Elizabeth shrugged, "me and mother will be on hand, if you want us to be, that is, and if Dr Macmillan is in attendance you might feel more relaxed."

"I wish Jack could be there," she pouted.

"Robert was, for Jackie and Millie, I was rushed into hospital with Laurence, but they were born at home, so I don't see why he shouldn't be," Elizabeth huffed.

"Of course, Jack did mention it, but I thought he was just being hopeful."

"Nah," she laughed, "he'll know what he's doing, hasn't he told you?"

"Told me what?"

"That he 'attended' a birth once, before the war, when he was a young copper."

"No," Phryne leant forward, "do tell."

"Well, he and a couple of other constables had just arrested a young chap, and he had to take his young and heavily pregnant wife home. It was just out of the city and the woman went into labour on the way. They were closer to her home than a hospital and she insisted that her mother would be there so he drove on. When they got there the mother had gone out shopping and our ever honourable Jack decided he couldn't leave her on her own so he stayed. Labour progressed rather faster than they hoped and it wasn't long before she was ready to push. She ordered Jack to boil some water and drop the kitchen scissors into it while she undressed to her nightgown and got onto the bed. He had no choice, he insists he just stood there and caught the baby when she delivered it, a boy. She guided him through everything and it was all over when her mother came back. Turns out the young woman had helped her mother with delivering other babies in the neighbourhood so she knew exactly what she was doing. She also said that talking Jack through it helped keep her mind off her feckless husband and the pain. She even called the baby after him, there's a Jack Latimer around the place somewhere, he'll be about twenty five now."

"So, if we are stranded in a tin hut, miles away from the city ..."

"You'll be fine," Elizabeth laughed and Phryne joined in.

She left sometime later with more confidence than when she arrived and a date to go shopping for the rest of the things she would need for the nursery. She was also reconsidering the idea of a wet nurse, though the idea of a nanny was still one she felt was a good one.

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Phryne's back ached and her ankles were swollen but she was satisfied.

"It looks perfect," Catherine placed her hand in the small of her back, "but, my dear, you are doing too much ..."

"I know," she sighed, "but Mac says anytime in the next four weeks, I suppose my freedom is nearly up."

"Nonsense," Catherine guided her down the stairs, "thing will change, but you are not going to be locked away from the world. True you will have to stay at home for a while, but you can still have visitors, friends round."

"Mac says I have to stay on bed rest for three weeks after they are born," Phryne pouted, "how am I going to stand that?" She ran her hands through her hair.

"Come on, let's get some tea, put your feet up and we'll think about it, eh?" Catherine soothed, she understood, she had hated the lying in period too.

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The first pains caught her unawares as she was dressing for dinner, not an easy task as she found her mobility was somewhat curtailed. She wondered if she should phone Mac or Elizabeth, but decided she would try to eat something first, she would need all her strength in the coming hours.

Jack noticed she looked a little pale as she came down the stairs and the smile she gave him was not at bright as usual.

"Phryne?" he held out his hand to her.

"I'll be alright," she gripped his hand, "for a little while, anyway."

"Do you want me to ring anyone?"

"Let me have some dinner first," she smiled at his concern, "I'm going to need some fuel in the tank for this."

"If you're sure," he led her into the dining room, "but after I'm going to ring my mother, she did say ..."

"I know, and yes, perhaps it would be wise. No need to trouble Mac just yet."


	15. Chapter 15

The pains were not frequent and she didn't really want to worry Catherine or Elizabeth, just yet, but Jack was having none of it.

"I know you know what to do," she squeezed his hand, "Elizabeth told me about you helping a young woman before the war."

"Streuth!" he ran his hands through his hair, "I thought she'd have forgotten about that, but that's beside the point, that was one baby where the mother knew what she was doing, this is two and neither of us really know what we're doing."

"I trust you, Jack," she smiled softly, "with our lives, always have done, always will."

He smiled and kissed her forehead, "still, darling," he whispered, "best be sure. Mother first, I think," and he got up and went to the hall to make the first phone call.

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Catherine Robinson was just considering having a relaxing bath and getting ready for bed when the phone rang. She smiled, somehow she knew what this was about.

"Hello," she said, "ah, Jack ... has she started?"

"Yes, just before dinner," he confirmed, "she didn't want me to ring ..."

"It's quite alright, dear," she smiled, "I shall be along presently." She put the phone down and went to get the small valise she had prepared in readiness for just this moment.

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Back at Wardlow, Mrs Robinson winced on occasion, and groaned and once swore, which made Jack smile. He knew she could swear but never did in the house or within earshot of the household.

"Would a bath help?" he asked, at one point, "I could rub your back."

"Perhaps," she muttered, "not too hot, though."

"I'll run it for you, and what do you want to put on afterwards?"

"A nightdress, I think," she took his hand to pull herself up from the couch, "Dot has put some in the chest for this."

"Right, slowly does it," he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, "no rush ... is there?"

"Not just yet, I don't think." She thought the pains were too far apart at the moment, and she didn't have the urge to push that Elizabeth had told her about.

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The bath was warm and relaxing. Jack took off his jacket, waistcoat and tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves to reach down and rub her back. They heard the knock at the door and Mr Butler answer it. Voices muttered and footsteps came swiftly up the stairs.

"Come in," Jack called when his mother knocked on the bathroom door, "we're completely indecent."

"Jack!" Phryne batted his arm, "really," but she grinned all the same.

Catherine peered round the door and smiled, "perfect, my dears," she stepped in, "that should help relax you, Phryne, and make the pains more bearable."

"Jack's idea," Phryne smiled, then grimaced as a pain gripped her.

"How far apart, dear?"

"Ages," she replied, "I haven't been timing them."

Catherine looked down at her watch and noted the time, "let me know when the next one happens, that will give me an idea of how far along you are, we can then give Dr Macmillan an update."

"Right," Phryne sighed, "I suppose so."

"I don't think she'll be too happy if she has to tear round here as you are delivering the babies, dear," Catherine smiled, "she really wants to be here, for you."

"I know," Phryne shrugged, "but the longer we leave it the less chance she'll have to drag me off to hospital."

Catherine laughed and agreed with her. The pregnancy had gone well, she had had no problems with her general health, had eaten well and exercised as much as she should, so there should be no problems with the birth. She hoped.

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Jack helped his wife out of the bath and wrapped her in a towel before escorting her to the bedroom where his mother waited. They both noticed a pile of baby things ready, and a couple of fresh nightgowns, cloths to cool Phryne down as things progressed and towels to mop up whatever ...

"Now, Phryne," Catherine had become the professional nurse, "I need to know how dilated you are. We can wait for Dr Macmillan or I can see for myself. I will understand if you want to wait."

Phryne looked at her, what choice? her friend or her mother in law to do a most intimate examination, six of one and half a dozen of the other, she thought. Well, best get this over with.

Catherine's examination was gentle, she didn't hurt Phryne or make her feel emotionally uncomfortable, just examined and decided there was some time to go. She told Phryne she could wander about, if she wanted to, listen to some music.

"Lying down on the bed will just make the time pass more slowly," she smiled, "now, have you thought about names for them?"

"Not really," Phryne admitted, "we tried talking about it but we got rather silly, at one point. Given Jack's love of Shakespeare, Hamlet and Yorrick were mentioned."

"Oh really," Catherine laughed, "the poor things."

"Well, if it's one of each," Jack mused, "Anthony and Cleopatra might work ..."

"Absolutely not!" Phryne squealed, "well, not Cleopatra anyway ... and definitely not Romeo and Juliet, such a pair of wet blankets."

"Agreed," he laughed, "but we do need to come up with something they can live with and not get laughed at."

"Can I trust you with Psyche?" she asked thinking of how her father had been too drunk to register her correct name.

"Whatever we decide on you can trust me, I shall write it down," he squeezed her hand and noticed her wince. Not from the pressure of his fingers but another contraction. Catherine noted the time, fifteen minutes since the last one, plenty of time to discuss names.

"What about Beatrice?"

"... and Benedict?"

"You know I think we should avoid obvious Shakespearean pairings," she sighed, "Claire's a pretty name, for a girl ..."

"Christopher for a boy?"

"Alexandra or Alexander?"

"We need a pair of boy's names and a pair of girl's, that we can put together," Jack sat down next to her and wrapped his arms round her, "Alexandra Claire works ..."

"Christopher Alexander?" she finished off, "but if it is two of the same sex?"

"We split them up and add second names ..."

"Christopher John?" Phryne raised her eyebrows, "after his father ..."

"Alexander Henry ..."

"No! No chance!" she gasped, "father would be so full of himself, and anyway we haven't even told them I'm expecting. Alexander Edward, after my uncle ..."

"In that case," he stared at her, "Alexandra Phryne and Claire Prudence ..."

"Do we have to have Phryne?" she whined, as another pain gripped her. Catherine checked her watch and excused herself.

"We do," he nodded firmly.

She huffed but cuddled close. "Jack?" she asked "do you think you and Mr Butler could bring up the gramophone?"

"Like some music?"

"Yes, then you can dance with me, we haven't for a while," she sighed.

"If that is my lady's pleasure ..."

"It is."

Jack passed his mother in the hallway, talking quietly on the phone to, he hoped, Elizabeth, and not Mac, Phryne wasn't ready for her friend, just yet. Catherine put her hand over the mouthpiece and mouthed his sister's name and he nodded, before heading into the kitchen to find Mr Butler and enlist his help in transporting the gramophone and some records his wife might like. He thought something like a waltz would be best, the Charleston would be a step too far, something slow but rhythmic.

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Catherine, Elizabeth and Jack did their best to keep Phryne entertained through the hours of the night. Jack danced slowly with her and when she tired of that they brought the draughts set up and played endless games, the winner of each game challenged another in the room. Mr Butler, who Phryne kept telling to go to bed and get some rest, provided her with whatever she wanted: iced water, lemonade, tea, coffee, sandwiches, fruit, quiche, all of which she tried at intervals, small bites but Catherine and Elizabeth both agreed that if she felt the need to eat, then she should. She had a second bath and Catherine examined her again as the gaps between the contractions became shorter. Elizabeth phoned Dr Macmillan and told her that Phryne was close to giving birth in the early hours of the next morning.

"Mother has examined her and she seems to be nearly fully dilated," she sat on the bottom step.

"How is she otherwise?" Mac tried to pull on her trousers with one hand as she listened.

"Tired, grumpy, a little tearful," Elizabeth sighed, "but she's been going most of the night. Jack called mother after dinner last night, but she had started before their meal. Sorry we didn't call earlier but Phryne said to wait until she was close."

"Well, I'll just throw on some clothes and be over directly."

"Lovely, see you shortly," Elizabeth hung up, the doctor knew her friend well.

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Dr Macmillan put down the phone and shook her head, a little smile formed at the corners of her mouth, 'trust Phryne Robinson not to do anything I told her,' she thought. She finished pulling on her trousers and grabbed a shirt and jacket before lifting her bag and heading out of the door.

She drove a little faster than she should and pulled up outside Wardlow ten minutes later. She wasn't worried, Catherine and Elizabeth were more than capable of handling a birth, but Phryne was her best friend and it _was_ twins, not always the easiest of births to deal with, one could be in the breech position and if she was too far on then it would be impossible to turn it. And, they _were_ Phryne's children.

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"Good morning, doctor," Mr Butler gave his little bow, "Mrs Robinson is up in her room, with the Inspector and ladies."

"Thank you, Mr B," Mac grinned, "how's it been so far?"

"Mrs Robinson has born it with her typical fortitude," she smiled, "she has eaten a little throughout the night and had plenty to drink in the way of water and lemonade."

"Sounds excellent, Mr B," she let him take her jacket, "well I take it there is plenty of boiling water available?"

"Indeed, ready when you are, doctor." He watched her head up the stairs quickly and heard her call out to his mistress.

"Phryne Fisher-Robinson," she opened the door, "honestly."

"'Lo Mac," Phryne hummed, "s'ppose it was about time you were called in." She sounded tired and Mac thought it was time things got moving.

"Right, let's have a look," she pulled a white gown out of her bag and pulled it on, allowing Elizabeth to fasten the ties at the back of her neck, "any urge to push yet?"

"No," Phryne grunted as another contraction gripped her, "oh, that was a tough one," she gasped, leaning against Jack.

Mac watched her, admiring her strength when she must be just about done in. "Come on, old love," she took her arm, "let's have a look, then I can see where we are."

She wasn't at all surprised when Jack made no move to leave the room while she performed such an intimate examination and decided that if that was how they wanted it to go, she wasn't going to argue. He had his back to her, sitting facing his wife and holding her hand.

"Almost ready, darling," Mac smiled, "you will soon feel the need to push, but wait until I tell you."

"Can I stand again?" Phryne mumbled, she felt so desperately tired, but lying down was so much more uncomfortable than standing with her head on Jack's chest, swaying to the soft music now drifting over from the gramophone.

"Well ..." Mac tipped her head to one side and considered the request.

"Please, just a little while longer," she almost whined, "Mac ...?"

"Just until you need to push," Mac sighed. Up to now it had been almost serene in the room and she didn't want Phryne to become distressed, anxious.

They got through another two songs before her waters broke and she began to feel an undeniable urge to bear down, now she understood what they had all been talking about.

Things started to happen very quickly after that. They made her comfortable on the bed, her back against Jack's chest as he sat behind her. He held her hands across her chest and let her grip as hard as she could each time she pushed on a contraction. He kept telling her how proud he was of her, how much he loved her

"Jack," she moaned, "it hurts."

"I'm sure it does," he murmured into her hair, not really knowing how much pain she was in, "but once they're here it will all be over," he hoped.

"Come on Phryne," Mac urged, "first one's almost here, you can do it, love."

"There's the head," Elizabeth smiled, as she watched the doctor turn the shoulders, "one more push and ..."

Phryne grunted and bore down.

"Well, hello there," Mac smiled, "your little lordship." She looked up at the very new parents, "you have a son, Phryne." She cut the cord and handed the baby boy to Elizabeth to wipe down and wrap up before presenting him to his father. Mac turned back to her duty and cleaned up what she could while waiting for the next baby to put in an appearance.

"Hm," she mused, "looks like this one is more like her mother, wants a lie in."

"Mac," Phryne moaned, "I'm so tired."

"I know love, just a little longer, push when you have a contraction, I can just about see the crown of her head."

Phryne sighed while Jack murmured more words of encouragement. There were time she wanted to snap at him, tell him he had no damned idea what she was going through, but really she was too tired and just wanted it over with.

"Come on, Phryne," Mac patted her knee, "another push, head's nearly here, you can do it."

"Urrrgh" she huffed, bearing down, "oh god!" She gave an almighty push and her daughter came out in a rush, bawling her head off, scarlet with indignation.

Mac couldn't help but laugh, and congratulated her friend, "A girl, Phryne you have the set, and what a pair of lungs."

"Just like her mother," Jack muttered in Phryne's ear, "you clever, clever woman, I love you."

Phryne was exhausted and only vaguely aware of the continuing pains in the third stage. Things were happening around her, Mac was pressing down on her abdomen, which hurt, and Elizabeth encouraged the first born to latch on to her breast. Her girl child had stopped howling and was cradled by her grandmother, all the new mother wanted to do was sleep.

By the time everything was over, and Mac was happy Phryne had come back to the room. She gazed down at each tiny child as they were placed in her arms and sighed.

"Jack," she looked up, "we did it."

"You did it, darling," he kissed her forehead, "all the hard work. I could never imagine what you have been through."

"That's true," she tried to lift the mood in the room, "but, to be completely honest, I'd rather chase a couple of murderers round the docks."

"Not today, love, you can have today off."

"Right, if you're sure?"

"Well, I'm going to take the next week off, so ..."

She looked from one baby to the other, a sight she never thought possible. Catherine had carefully wrapped each baby in a blanket, blue for the boy, pink for the girl, a little too stereotypical for Phryne but at least she knew which was which.

"Hello, Christopher Alexander John," she kissed his head, "and greetings to you too, Claire Alexandra Jane, welcome to this rather mad world."

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Catherine and Elizabeth, and Mac, settled and sorted Phryne, washed her and dressed her in a fresh nightgown, changed the bed beneath her and bade her sleep.

"You've earned it, Phryne," Catherine smiled and smoothed her hair, "these two will wake you in due course so you must take the opportunity to sleep whenever you can."

"I'll pop back later, darling girl," Mac kissed her cheek, "just to make sure everything is alright, but Jack can ring me at any time, day or night."

"Thank you, all of you," Phryne mumbled through the tiredness, "for everything." Tears ran down her cheeks, though she had no idea why.

"You might feel a bit weepy over the next few days, if it continues beyond that I'll talk to you, but for now, you are fine it's just the hormones."

Jack hugged his mother and sister, thanking them for being there and even for telling Phryne the story of the young woman before the war, "At least it reassured her I wasn't a complete novice."

He shook hands with Mac then pulled her into a tight hug, "Thanks, Mac, for looking after my family."

"My pleasure, Inspector, my absolute pleasure," she grinned. "Now, you have phone calls to make and a telegram to send. Henry and Margaret need to know."

"They'll never believe it," he sighed.

"No they won't, but you still have to send the news."

Mac left with a huge smile on her face. She grinned at Mr Butler as he saw her out, she grinned at the milkman and the paper boy. This was such a wonderful day nothing could upset her, not even the dull drizzle that dampened the pavement or the thought that she had an autopsy to perform down in the city morgue. No, her world was full of sunshine.

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Early though it was, Jack decided to call Aunt Prudence first. She had been very good at not crowding Phryne during the pregnancy though she had offered advice on diet and exercise, and her thoughts on having a nanny or a wet nurse, though the latter was no longer something Phryne wanted.

He grinned at the yawning congratulations from Mrs Stanley and her delight at the names which she thought perfectly suitable. She sent her love to Phryne and said she would call soon, though she would let her get settled into a routine first. Jack thanked her for that kindness.

"I just wish Guy and Isabella would come over with Leonard," she sighed, "but apparently Isabella is still playing the wilting Violet. Wait 'til I tell her Phryne gave birth at home, to twins, without any such nonsense ... there wasn't was there?"

"She got a little grumpy and tearful towards the end, but she was up all night and you know how she likes her sleep. It was tough, but she made it."

"Good, good," Prudence murmured, "well, Jack, I expect you have other people to phone and how are you going to let Margaret and Henry know?"

"I'll send a telegram, then follow it up with a letter, maybe with a photograph as proof," he laughed, "they don't even know she's married, never mind expecting. She didn't want them to come over and start interfering."

"Quite right too," she huffed, "Margaret would have wanted a big society wedding and Henry would have tried to get money out of Phryne or anyone who was around, and probably got supremely drunk."

Jack neither agreed nor disagreed but wished her good day and said he would let her know when Phryne would like her to call.

As he made the calls he ticked them off his mental list, the Collinses, the Commissioner to let him know he would be taking leave for a week, until Phryne was into a routine and the nanny had been appointed. His mother, sister and Phryne had interviewed some and had provisionally engaged a youngish woman who came with stunning references. He put in a call to the red raggers who were delighted but agreed that a visit would have to wait, for a few days, anyway. Lastly he sat down to compose the telegram. He decided to word it in the form of a birth announcement, whether he put one in the paper would be up to the new mother, upstairs. He doubted it, they hadn't even put their wedding in the paper though rumours had spread.

This is what he sent:

TO INSPECTOR JOHN AND THE HONOURABLE MRS PHRYNE ROBINSON TWINS STOP BOY AND GIRL STOP ALL WELL STOP LETTER TO FOLLOW STOP.

'That should make them sit up over their breakfast,' he thought.

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Henry spluttered over his morning tea and Margaret choked on her toast.

"What!" he roared, passing the paper to his wife.

"Phryne? Married! and with twins!" she fanned herself with the note. "Without telling us?! Why didn't Prudence write? This has to be a joke!"

The butler hid his smirk behind his tray and went to tell the cook. Both of them knew and loved Miss Phryne and he wasn't surprised that she had wed that nice Australian policeman without her parents knowing. No doubt the Baron and Baroness would be off to their homeland to see their grandchildren and tear a strip off their daughter.

He was right. Margaret immediately started making preparations to head over to Melbourne. It was a month by boat, she would be over the birth by then. There was the packing to see to , gifts, they supposed they had better get a wedding gift and something for the babies. She knew it would take time for a letter to arrive, they would most likely be at sea, if not in Australia by the time it came, even Henry could see they should wait.

"No, Henry," she shrugged his hand off her arm, "we must go as soon as I can book passage."

"Margaret," he was, for once more realistic, "they are writing, we should wait to hear the circumstances," and he and Phryne were still not on the best of terms.

"Alright," her shoulders slumped, "we shall wait for a letter, but in the meantime I'm going to write to my sister."

Henry rolled his eyes, but let her get on with it, it was better than heading off to Melbourne right now. He didn't want to think about the greeting they would get if they turned up on the doorstep a month after the babies had been born. He liked Jack, in spite of everything and he thought she did. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In Melbourne, Prudence had bided her time before heading to Wardlow to see her great niece and nephew. As Phryne had asked, she had said nothing in her monthly letters to her sister in London but now she felt she had to broach the subject. She was fairly sure Margaret would not be best pleased that Phryne had married a police officer, albeit an honourable man with strict ideas on upholding the law, even if his wife had a more lax attitude to said laws. She armed herself with gifts for the babies, sweet little teddy bears for them to cuddle and shawls for them to be wrapped in. She bought her niece her favourite chocolates and flowers and a silver locket that a picture of each of the children could be tucked into. She had written to Guy and Isabella and told them of the twins' arrival but it would be a while before they got the letter. She hoped it would spur them on to visit soon.

Phryne was delighted to see her. She was sitting up in bed feeling a lot better. She had got the twins to take turns feeding and Dot, Catherine or Elizabeth were always on hand to help with the changing and bathing of the babies.

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"Aunt Prudence!" she opened her arms wide, "how lovely to see you!"

Prudence's face instantly lit up. Phryne was still confined to bed, but she made it look like she was reclining on a vast couch. Her hair was neatly brushed, a light covering of make-up and a pretty cotton nightdress under a light lace bed jacket completed her look, which was wonderful. She looked so well, so happy.

"Phryne," she smiled, "oh darling girl, you look marvellous," she sat down on the side of the bed.

"I am, Aunt P," Phryne hugged her, "I am extremely well, according to my doctor, considering I have given birth to two babies. But, I am, emphatically not doing it again," she threw back her head and laughed. "Care to meet them, they've just been fed so should be quite amiable?"

Prudence joined in her laughter and said she would be delighted to meet her great niece and nephew.

"Well here is ..." she took Christopher from Elizabeth who was sitting to one side, "Christopher Alexander John, who weighed in at five pounds exactly."

Prudence took him and cradled him in her well practiced arms. She noted the fine dark hair and perfect face. He pursed his lips and wriggled his shoulders so she loosened the blanket he was wrapped in. He settled and continued to sleep.

"You have the measure of him, Aunt Prudence," Phryne smiled, and it was true, Christopher didn't like to be too tightly swaddled.

"He's lovely, Phryne, just like you when you were a baby, a wriggler, you never did like to be confined."

"Ah well, Claire must be more like her father, she likes to be swaddled," Elizabeth handed the girl child to her, "just a little smaller than her brother but with a powerful set of lungs."

"There has to be one, dear," Prudence leant over to see her great niece, "but she is a beautiful baby. I wrote to Guy and Isabella, to tell them. I'm hoping they will come over, soon, though I'm very much afraid Leonard will be able to make up his own mind by the time they get round to it."

Elizabeth slipped out of the room to let the aunt and niece talk in private. She knew what Phryne thought about Isabella but didn't want to be drawn into the discussion.

Phryne leant forward and squeezed her aunt's hand, "Leonard is missing out, I shall write to Guy myself and demand he sets sail immediately. It's been, what, three months since his son was born, Isabella should be able to travel now."

"By the time they get here you will be chasing a murderer down the back streets of Collingwood, or round the docks," Prudence huffed.

"Even I have to admit that it will be a while before I am quite up to that," she smiled, "Isabella has a wet nurse, doesn't she, and a nanny? Travelling shouldn't be too difficult with that kind of help."

"I thought you would be having a nanny, Phryne dear," Prudence looked around the room, "you did say you would."

"I will, and she has been provisionally appointed, just has to work her notice. Her current family are moving to Singapore with his work but she doesn't want to go. She has an aged aunt she cares for, or rather keeps an eye on. She has excellent references and even invited me to meet her family. They are delightful and the boys she has cared for seem well mannered so I think she is the one for us. She will take over Dot's old room and we shall take it from there."

"That sounds as if you have it all worked out ..." Prudence nodded.

"I intend to take more interest in my children than Isabella does Leonard," Phryne kissed Claire's head, "I didn't think I would want to ..."

"Having a baby changes a woman, Phryne, you have an uncanny knack of adapting to all situations, and you will to motherhood."

"I appreciate your confidence in me, Aunt Prudence," she smiled then turned to the sound of a knock on the door, "come in!"

It was Elizabeth with a tray of tea and small cakes and biscuits.

"Oh, lovely, thank you," then she noticed there were only two cups, "you will join us, won't you Elizabeth, please?"

"That's very kind of you, Phryne, but I thought you would prefer to speak to your aunt alone, I see you most days."

"Please stay, Elizabeth," Prudence smiled, "and tell me how that delightful little Millie is."

They spent a happy couple of hours together, Elizabeth telling how Millie was now determined to have a say in the clothes she wore.

"She is determined I find her some trousers, like yours, Phryne," she smiled, "but they don't make them for little girls."

"They should, "Phryne shrugged, "I shall ask Madame Fleuri if she is able to make some for her."

"Oh, you mustn't do that," Elizabeth gasped.

"Nonsense, as I have bought a bicycle for Jackie I was wondering what I could treat the other two to," Phryne reached for another biscuit, "trousers for Millie and what for Laurence, I wonder?"

"Please, Phryne, they have what they need," Elizabeth blushed at her sister in law's generosity.

"I'm thinking of what they want," Phryne insisted, "now, what does Laurence like doing?"

Elizabeth sighed a resigned sigh, Prudence smiled a little smile and Phryne waited.

"Well, he doesn't read much, though I wish he would, he does like gardening, though spends a lot of time there, tending to the plants. Usually we have a man come in once a week to mow the lawn and weed the borders and Laurence will go out and help him."

"Oh, right," Phryne tipped her head, "well that gives me something to work on. I expect the best person for me to ask would be Jack, or Mr Butler."

"Mr Butler?" Prudence raised her eyebrows, "why him?"

"He tends to our garden, Jack hasn't had much time recently but they do get into conversation about varieties of plants. The roses for my wedding bouquet were from our garden, you know."

"I see," Prudence smiled.

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Phryne managed to stay in bed for the first week, but the remaining two weeks of her lying in she took in the parlour. The babies were placed in their bassinets that were taken down each morning so the only time she had to go anywhere was when she needed the bathroom. She was always accompanied by one of her constant companions to whom she began to complain about the enforced immobility.

"Well," Catherine mused, "perhaps sitting in the garden, then weather is good at the moment; not too warm or cold; you are recovering well ..."

"Thank you, Catherine," Phryne smiled, "that would make a change, the twins can be put in their pram outside, I'm sure the fresh air will be most beneficial to them."

So that was how Jack found them that sunny afternoon. His children feet to feet in the double ended pram and his wife and mother sipping tea in the garden. It all seemed so serene and peaceful, two words he rarely associated with his wife. He hadn't wanted to change her, but it would seem he had, in a way he never thought possible.

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In the parlour in their London home, Guy and Isabella Stanley sighed over the letter from his mother. Sent three weeks previously it informed them of his cousin's entry into motherhood and was full of praise for Phryne's love for her children.

"Of course you must come and see her, Guy, dear," his mother wrote, "you would be astounded in the change in her, though how long it will last I, have no idea."

"We could, old thing," he turned to his wife, lazing on a chaise longue, "nanny and the nurse will take care of the sprog, it will be summer when we get there."

"Oh Guy," she sighed, "must we?"

"I think we should old love," he admitted, "mother keeps on about seeing Leonard, don't want to have the old battle-axe descending on us here, now, do we?"

Thinking about that, Isabella agreed it would curtail her partying, her mother in law, much like her own mother, would expect her to stay at home and tend to the offspring.

"Mother does say it would give her much pleasure to look after him while we have some free time."

"Go on, then," she pulled herself up and took the cocktail he offered her, "book a passage, though I must admit I do feel she is laying it on a bit thick about Phryne, I'm sure she isn't doing half the things your mother says, she isn't the type."

"I'll telegram, a letter will take too long."

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Prudence Stanley could hardly contain her joy at the telegram she received. She immediately phoned her niece to tell her Guy and the family were on their way over and she would try to arrange a luncheon so the babies could meet their second cousin.

"I'm so glad, Aunt Prudence," Phryne smiled, "how big an entourage is Isabella bringing?"

"Nanny and the wet nurse," Prudence sighed, "I told them that was all that was needed, I have enough staff to see to the house and Isabella can learn to dress herself." She finished with a huff and Phryne laughed down the phone.

"I look forward to introducing her to the finer points of motherhood. How long before they get here?"

"Nearly a month," Prudence sighed, "but there's nothing I can do about that, still Claire and Christopher will be a little easier by then, I suppose."

"They're not too bad now," Phryne reminded her, "at least when we brought them over to you the other weekend it all seemed to go well, didn't it?"

"Indeed it did, dear," she agreed, "and your nanny is perfectly marvellous."

"She is, isn't she, we are so lucky to have found her."

Nanny Martine had settled into the Fisher-Robinson household quite nicely, thank you very much. She was there when she was needed and out of sight when not. She had taken note of the way Mrs Robinson was with her babies and decided that she would help the new mother, rather than take over. She was well aware of her mistress' habit of inveigling her way into the Inspector's investigations and determined that would be when she was needed the most. Otherwise she would make herself useful round the house and try not to step on anyone else's toes. Mrs Collins was now expecting her own child so she had suggested that if the companion needed to rest she could take over some of her duties. Dot had agreed and the three women began to work as a team.

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Inspector Robinson went about his business each day with a much lighter step and a smile on his face. No matter what cases crossed his desk he knew he would be going home to his beautiful wife and two adorable children that he thought he would never have. Now her lying period was over and she was allowed further than the garden they would take the babies for a walk along the esplanade when he was off duty, or to the Botanical Gardens. They began to talk about baptisms and godparents.

"I do think we should wait for your parents to arrive, Phryne," he noted one evening when the subject cropped up, "they are on their way, as are Guy and Isabella."

"I suppose it would be rather churlish of me to get it done without them, wouldn't it?" she sighed and sipped her fruit cocktail, "as they missed the wedding."

"Missed is a kind way of putting it," he grinned, "they weren't invited."

"True, and I do worry about father at the Christening, you know what he's like."

He thought for a moment and sipped his pre-dinner cocktail, "That's a bridge we'll have to cross when we get there, but Mr Butler will be on hand to serve the food and drink, won't he?"

"I hope so," she smiled, "first I have to get gowns for them, Madame Fleuri is not the place to go for babies gowns. Perhaps Martine will know of the right place. What did Elizabeth do for her children?"

"She used the one we were baptised in," he shifted to look at her, "but she only had single children as did mother, so there is only one."

"I have no idea what we were baptised in," she shrugged.

"Prudence will know."

"I expect she will."

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"I'm sorry, Phryne," Prudence looked into her teacup, "you and Janey weren't baptised, your parents couldn't afford it. I did offer to pay and lend her the robe I used for my boys ... but your father wouldn't allow it and your mother couldn't go against his wishes." She reached over and touched her hand not knowing if she was shocked or upset, or angry. Phryne wasn't a regular church goer, she knew, high days and holidays really.

"Oh, I suppose I just assumed ..." she shrugged, "well, too late now."

"You can still use the robe I had for Guy and Arthur," Prudence hoped she could soften the blow, "for one of the babies, and perhaps Jack's for the other."

"But if I wasn't baptised ..."

"I think it is just that you need to agree to bring them up in the Anglican faith, dear," Prudence smiled, "Jack is Anglican, yes?"

"Hm? Oh yes," she nodded, "though, like me he only goes to church high days and holidays, but probably more than I do. War tends to knock one's faith, Aunt Prudence, if I actually had any to begin with."

"You went to church when you were at school in England though."

"We had to, on Sunday, and we had regular prayers at school," Phryne smiled a little smile, "I did try for the choir, Miss Thompson said I had a good voice, but I'm sorry to say ..."

"I don't think I need to hear what you got up to, Phryne," Prudence tried to look disappointed but couldn't, not really, "safe for me to assume you were not particularly angelic."

Phryne giggled softly, not wanting to wake the babies, sleeping in the bassinets close by.

"No, I wasn't."

Prudence pursed her lips but couldn't be angry at her, she was always going to push the boundaries of society.

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Phryne told Jack what her aunt had told her, that she wasn't baptised so there was no christening robe of hers to use.

"She has offered the one she used, though," she added, "so, I suppose if the vicar is prepared to baptise my children we could - if you want to, that is."

"Well, it would be nice but we don't have to just because everyone expects it, love," he looked up at the ceiling and thought, "it might make it easier to get them into good schools, Warley Grammar did look a little worried that we didn't know if Jane had been baptised. Neither of us has a strong belief and we weren't married in church ..."

"... and there is the matter of Godparents," she added, "who would we choose?"

"Mac, definitely, can't think of anyone else I would trust with my children, apart from mother and Elizabeth, but she would make a wonderful godmother, if a little unorthodox." He smiled, imagining the doctor's expression when he asked her.

Phryne giggled, Mac had even less time for the church than she had, and there was another thing, "Mac's catholic," she said.

"Ah, oh well, maybe the vicar won't mind, at least it is a Christian religion."

"True, so, Mac and who else? Robert and Elizabeth?"

"I am Jackie's godfather, it would be nice to return the honour," he mused, "anyone else?"

"I think they will be enough, they can be godparents to both of them, I hope so, anyway."

So that was decided upon, but nothing more would happen until her parents arrived. They still hadn't heard which ship they would be on or when they hoped to arrive. Phryne hoped they wouldn't try to make it a surprise. Prudence had shown her the letter she had received from the Baroness and there were some snide comments about Jack deliberately getting her in the family way to trap her, and while she liked him well enough had only really regarded him as another dalliance for her daughter.

"I know they seemed close, Prudence," she had written, "but we know Phryne's record with men and I was sure it would be over once she was back in Melbourne."

"Well," Phryne had bitten back the tears, remembering how polite her mother had been, inviting Jack back anytime with Phryne now it would appear that was all it was, show. "As if Jack would do that, or that I would let him. Really, how two faced of her. And you Aunt Prudence, what are your true feelings?"

Prudence heard the hint in her voice but touched her hand.

"Phryne dear," she soothed, "I may not have initially approved of the amount of time you spent in Jack's company but compared to the men you have 'dallied' with and the wet blankets your mother lined up for you, you have definitely made the right choice. He is strong and honourable, kind, selfless and I meant it when I welcomed him to the family. You are happy, you have two beautiful children, so if I were you I would ignore her snide comments. Actually," she leaned close and whispered as if her sister was in the next room, "she's probably jealous, you have made a much better choice than she did."

"Thank you, Aunt P," Phryne smiled through the threatening tears, "I know you've come to like Jack, and my strange little family, heaven knows what will happen when she meets the red raggers."

Prudence smiled, she had a soft spot for the men who seemed to be able to put aside their communist ideals when it came to requests from her niece, especially Albert.


	16. Chapter 16

_This is the last chapter of this story, and I'm sorry it has taken so long to write, but the muse has been on extended leave - darn it! This chapter brings everyone together, I hope it is the conclusion you, the reader, like. Many thanks to all of you for reading._

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"Look, Margaret," Henry knew he was taking his life in his hands if he decided to get firm with his wife, "surprising Phryne is not a good idea, I know, I speak from experience."

She just huffed and shrugged her shoulders. After reading the letter from her daughter and the Inspector, as she insisted on referring to Jack, she had booked passage but had not written to tell them when they would arrive. As luck would have it, at least Henry hoped it was luck, they had booked on the same ship as Guy and Isabella so he thought he may have some back-up. He was worried about Margaret, she didn't seem to be as happy about being a grandmother as he thought she would. She had been angry at Prudence for not telling her about the wedding or that Phryne was pregnant, and her letter had been spiteful.

"I thought you liked him."

"I do, but I didn't view him as a potential son in law."

"Well he is, it would seem, and at least he won't try and suffocate her like so many of the suitors you pick out for her."

Henry was delighted that his daughter had made him a grandfather. He was under no illusion that it would slow Phryne down, she would still interfere in Jack's cases and continue to act as a Private Detective, but that was no more than he expected. He found he quite admired her for it these days, for her spirit, he hoped the children had the same zest for life. He was looking forward to meeting Claire and Christopher, Prudence had told them their names and he liked them, and that Phryne had added Jane into Claire's name.

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Guy and Isabella weren't sure what to make of Aunt Margaret's response to Phryne being married and mother to twins. Guy thought she would be over the moon but all she talked about was that Phryne had married a copper. He thought it strange, the Inspector he knew was rather a stuffed shirt for his cousin to get involved with, but they _had_ seemed close when they investigated the girl's death. What was her name again? Some flower ... Lilly? no that wasn't it, Rose? No, no ... Marigold, ah yes, he and Isabella had had some fun with her. He smiled at the memory.

"I thought he was rather dishy," Isabella ran her finger down Guy's jacket lapel, "quite a catch, on the looks at least."

"You are a little tart, sometimes, dear wife," he teased, "fancied him yourself, did you?"

"Just a last fling before I married you," she closed the gap between them, "not really my type, lover boy."

"Too serious?"

"Oh heavens, yes," she laughed, "very much so."

They dined with Margaret and Henry frequently during the trip, they couldn't really avoid it. Margaret took some interest in baby Leonard, who she declared rather like his father.

"Have you heard from Phryne?" Isabella asked, innocently one evening, "will you be staying with her?"

"She wrote, after the twins were born," Margaret hummed, it hadn't been a long letter that had been written, "I expect she's busy detecting, too busy to write to her mother."

"Hands full, with two," Henry observed, "not much time to spare I shouldn't wonder."

"Surely she has a wet nurse," Isabella queried, "and a nanny?"

"Nanny, yes, but apparently no wet nurse, well not according to Prudence. Though I am sure my sister is just economic with the truth." Margaret was sure that Phryne would have everything she could afford , "we will probably stay with her, yes."

Henry's eyebrows shot up and he couldn't help but remind her that Phryne didn't know when they were arriving and hadn't been invited to stay.

"That house is big enough, from what she said when she bought it," Margaret sniffed, "and we are her parents. Where else would we stay?"

Henry and Guy really thought Margaret was being selfish and churlish. Isabella watched and thought she would suggest to Guy that they send a telegram to Phryne and Jack to warn them.

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"No!" Phryne threw the telegram on the table, "they are not staying with us, there isn't room and Mr Butler and Dot have enough to do."

"Suite at the Windsor?" Jack picked up the paper and read what Guy had sent.

"MARGARET PLANNING ON STAYING AT WARDLOW STOP BIT MIFFED ABOUT WEDDING STOP HENRY GRINNING LIKE A CHESHIRE CAT STOP GUY"

He had seen the letter Margaret had sent to Aunt Prudence and, while a little hurt, had brushed it aside in the full knowledge that he and Phryne had made the right decision and were very, very happy.

"Or with Aunt Prudence," he mused. "I suppose we should count ourselves lucky Guy thought to telegram."

"I thought she liked you, Jack," she sighed, "she was, or seemed to be, accepting of our relationship."

"Darling," he shifted closer to her on the couch and wrapped his arm round her, "I was useful, kept your father out of jail and sorted out that squirt Ribblesdown."

Phryne giggled at the description of the odious Lord as a 'squirt'. "I suppose I could organise a suite at the Windsor," she sighed, "at least it is the style to which she has become accustomed to."

"Shame I let out the bungalow," he mused, "they could have had that."

Phryne shrugged, her mother had cooked and cleaned when they lived in Collingwood, but she doubted she would do it now, no, a suite at the Windsor would be the best.

"I'll organise it when I know when the ship is to dock," she shifted round, "now, the babies are settled so ..."

They were still waiting for Mac to give her the 'all clear' after having the twins so they were finding other ways to fulfil each other's needs. He had spoken to Mac about some permanent kind of birth control, to relieve Phryne of the need to use her internal device each time.

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"We have one of each, Mac," he had reddened a little at the consultation, "so, as Phryne, and I agree with her, does not want to have any more children I was wondering ..."

"Right, I hope you've talked to her about this, Jack," she warned, "because the wrath of Phryne Fisher Robinson is not something I want to be facing."

"We have, seriously. We both know that you can cut her tubes but she has done all the hard work so it's my turn to take responsibility..."

"My, my," Mac's eyes widened, "we have been doing our homework, haven't we?"

"Having family in 'the business' so to speak, helps," Jack all but admitted he and Phryne had spoken to his mother.

"I wish all the husbands were so knowledgeable and caring. Phryne's a lucky woman," she smiled, "well, as it doesn't appear I have to procreate with the nearest intelligent white male, I think I can arrange that, hopefully before I pass your wife fit for active duty, as it were."

"Thanks, Mac, we both appreciate this."

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So the deed had been done and now they were just waiting for Phryne's final check up. She felt perfectly fine, her figure had begun to return to its pre-pregnancy shape and though her stomach was still soft and her breasts larger she was feeling more like her old self. Jack said he loved her just the same, if not more so, it wasn't just her body he was interested in, it was her brain, her sparkling wit and fine deductive skills.

"Flatterer," she teased, "what are you after?"

He just shrugged and laughed, then leant forward and kissed her softly.

"Love you," he whispered.

She snuggled close and smiled to herself. Sometimes it was just the solitude, just them being together, cuddling on the couch that she needed.

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Phryne sent Bert and Cec to pick up her parents and take them directly to the Windsor where they were to wait until they were settled in and then bring them over to Wardlow for tea. She hoped her timings were right and that the babies would be settled just after a feed when they arrived.

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Henry greeted the red raggers like old friends until his wife gave him a sharp kick to the shins. It didn't go unnoticed and Bert wondered if the Baroness had been as bad as her husband for disciplining the girls when they were young. She was stand-offish which he thought uncalled for, considering where she came from and he resolved to have as little to do with her, beyond ferrying her about which Miss Fisher would be paying for, as possible.

They didn't have to wait long outside the hotel before she came hurrying out again, changed out of her travelling suit into a smart navy blue skirt and jacket and matching hat. Henry scurried behind her, back in his favourite tweed jacket and cravat.

"So," Henry settled next to his wife in the back of the taxi, "how are our grand-children and their mother?"

"Bonzer," Cec grinned, "Miss Claire is just like her mother, knows her own mind already. Master Christopher is quieter until he wants something, then he puts his lungs to good use."

"And my daughter?" Baroness Fisher grumbled.

"She's well, taken it all in her stride," Bert chewed his, unlit, cigarette, "hard to believe really."

"Jack ok?" Henry wondered.

"Busy as ever, but still home in good time, well mostly. Likes to see the babes before dinner ..." Cec grinned as he thought of the times the Inspector sat cradling one or other of the twins while talking about the latest case. As Phryne observed, the babies were too young to understand. Cec and Bert both knew that Jack had taken the afternoon off to support Phryne as she dealt with her mother.

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Mr Butler opened the door and bowed a little bow as he admitted the Baron and Baroness.

"Good to see you again, Mr Butler," Henry smiled, "Phryne keeping you busy I bet."

"Indeed, Baron," Mr Butler nodded, "it's a little livelier than before."

"Good, good, in the parlour?"

"Mrs Robinson will be down shortly, she is seeing to Miss Claire, I believe," he pushed the door to the parlour open, "I shall bring in some tea."

"I should like to go up to my daughter," Margaret sniffed, feeling as if Phryne was avoiding her.

Mr Butler knew he couldn't say 'no' but he also knew his mistress didn't want her mother interfering.

"I shall just see if she is ready to see you, madam," he headed up the stairs where the sound of Claire screaming through an attack of colic, again, drifted through the slightly open door.

He knocked and pushed to door open enough to see Phryne pacing the bedroom with Claire up against her shoulder. She was rubbing her hand over her back in gentle circles and talking to her.

"If you took your time, little lady," she hummed, "you wouldn't get such a sore belly, now let's see if this water will help."

Nanny passed her a spoon of the cooled, boiled water they used to alleviate the pain and she sat down to trickle it into her mouth.

"There we go, sweetie," she sat the baby up on her knee and rubbed her back until finally she brought up the offending wind and a little curdled milk. "Better?" Phryne wiped her chin and put her up against her shoulder again until she calmed down.

"Excuse me, Miss, your parents have arrived."

"Thank you Mr B," she smiled, "I shall be down presently."

"The Baroness would like to come up, Miss."

"Tell her I shall be down presently," she repeated, "when the babies are ready."

"Very well, Miss," he nodded and smiled, "I shall detain her in the parlour."

"Please." She turned back to Nanny and they set about changing the nappies and dressing the twins properly.

"May I suggest a change of blouse, Mrs Robinson," Nanny pointed at a milk stain on the sleeve, "perhaps the white one with the blue piping."

"Good idea, it goes with these white trousers quite nicely." Phryne placed Claire in her bassinet, now settled and ready to meet her grandparents, and went to wash her face and change the blouse. She took the time to apply a light covering of make-up and, after looking in the mirror and deciding she was perfectly attired, lifted the sleeping child and, with Nanny two steps behind her, headed down to the parlour.

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Henry was leaning nonchalantly against the mantle-piece and Margaret was pacing up and down, round and round. They heard Mr Butler talking to someone in the hall and then the door opened to reveal Inspector Jack Robinson arriving home just in time.

"Jack!" Henry pushed himself off the mantle-piece and extended his hand, "congratulations."

"Baron," Jack shook the hand, "thank you," he turned to face his mother in law, "Margaret, lovely to see you again." He stepped towards her and held out his hand. It was a gesture she couldn't ignore. She shook his hand lightly and murmured his name but didn't add her congratulations. Jack wasn't offended, he expected as much after the letter.

"Phryne's on her way," Henry told him, "just getting the babies sorted."

"Ah, yes, probably Claire, she has a tendency to get colic, bit too fast feeding - so Nanny says." He shrugged, it was all so usual to him, now. He heard the door open and turned round to see Phryne and Nanny each cradling a baby.

"Hello, darling," he strode over to her, "Claire?"

"Yes, colic again," she smiled and leaned over the bundle to kiss him.

"Would you like Christopher, sir?" Nanny offered him his son who he took into his arms and smiled at. Christopher was still awake, but with a full tummy was quite happy to stare into his father's eyes and gurgle. Nanny left, presumably to help Mr Butler as she often did.

"Hello, son," Jack touched his nose, "how are you today?"

"He's perfectly fine, it's your daughter that causes all the trouble," Phryne grinned.

"So much like her mother," he sighed, which earned him a sly dig in his ribs.

"Cheek." She turned to her parents, "Mother, father," she went to sit down on the chaise longue, "how are you? How was your journey?" Polite small talk but she was waiting for the scolding she was likely to get, the huffing and puffing from her mother, though her father had a silly grin on his face as he looked at Christopher and stroked the fine hair on his little head.

"Hm," he looked up, "oh it was fine," he smiled, "on the same ship as Guy and Isabella, y'know. Smooth sailing."

"Good. Guy telegrammed to say he had seen you, I do wish you had let us know the date of your arrival and not left it to him, though."

"I wanted to surprise you," her mother moved to stand in front of her.

Phryne looked up at her and frowned. "But I needed a date so I could book you into the Windsor, mother, with the twins there is a lot to do, and the only room left is rather small."

Margaret huffed.

"Now sit down and meet your grandchildren," Phryne could see this may end up in an argument if she didn't change the subject. "Here," she turned as her mother sat next to her, "have a hold of Claire, but don't jiggle her, it won't end well." She placed the baby in her arms. Claire felt the change and opened her eyes. Seeing something different her bottom lip started to tremble.

"It's alright, sweetie," Phryne placed her hand gently on her chest, "mumma's right her. This is your grandmother."

Margaret's hold was stiff, mindful of the damage her granddaughter could do to her silk suit, whereas Henry was jiggling Christopher in his arms and blowing raspberries behind his tiny ears.

"Henry," Margaret sniffed, "behave yourself."

"Pshaw!" he laughed, "you never let me do this with ours."

Phryne looked up sharply, this was something she had never thought about - how Henry was when she and Janey were babies, and there only being just two years between her and her sister she had no recollection of his behaviour then. It was only when they were older and he used to come home drunk and often violent towards them that she had much memory of her childhood.

Margaret cautiously leant back and settled Claire in her arms. She began to relax and passed a comment that she was rather like her mother at that age.

"Why am I not surprised?" Jack smiled, the atmosphere was lifting slightly, "ah, Mr Butler," the man had silently entered with a tray of tea, followed by Nanny with cakes and scones.

"Lovely, Mr B, thank you," Phryne beamed, "here, mother, she can go in the cradle, with her brother, they still fit - just."

Both babies were placed in the mahogany cradle that sat in the corner of the parlour and the adults settled to cups of tea and scones with strawberry preserve and cream.

"I must say, Phryne," Henry spoke between bites, "you are looking very well."

"Thank you, father," she smiled, "I feel it, and now these two are in a sort of routine it's not too difficult to get through the day. We take them for a walk every day along the esplanade, Nanny and I, the fresh air seems to help them to sleep longer."

"Are they sleeping through the night, yet?" her mother asked.

"No, but with a late night feed I get about five to six hours sleep. Mac says that I can think about trying them on something more than milk, then they should sleep through."

"So it's true, then," Margaret turned to her, "you don't have a wet nurse?"

"No, I can feed them myself, though it does make me feel like a prize heifer," she laughed. "Mac says that's why I am recovering so well, though."

"I must say you seem much livelier than Isabella did at this stage," Margaret conceded, "though she is back to her usual flighty self. I don't think there will be any more children there."

"Or here," Phryne muttered, "we have one of each, so we shan't add to the family and of course we do have Jane."

"Perfectly reasonable," Margaret was becoming more relaxed now she could see there was no coercion from Jack and that they truly were a happy family. The only sticking point for her was Jack's social class.

Henry was glad his wife seemed more accepting now she had seen her daughter and grandchildren. Perhaps she had to see it to believe it.

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All in all, Phryne thought, tea had gone well. The babies has slept through it all, her mother seemed to have calmed down even when they had explained the reason for their quiet wedding and showed the few photographs that had been taken - not by Frederick Burn. Margaret supposed that it had been for the best especially as the twins had already been conceived.

"But, mother," Phryne had insisted, "Jack in no way forced me into this, it was a joint decision, as it should have been, what _we_ wanted, us, and nobody else."

"I still wish you had told us dear," her mother sighed in that slightly exasperated way mothers do, "even if we couldn't be here."

"Yes, well," Phryne shrugged, "we didn't really have the time to wait. I was already showing the pregnancy ..."

"Hm ..." Margaret pursed her lips.

"Now, Margaret," Henry felt he should intervene, "Phryne must be tired, let's have dinner at the Windsor and meet up again tomorrow, or the next day." He stood up and offered his hand.

Phryne managed not to let her chin hit the floor at his sensitivity, Jack hid a smirk behind his hand, but this was a side to Henry they had no idea existed. Jack began to wonder if it had all been Henry - that Henry had been the one to instigate the beatings of the young Fisher girls or was Margaret more to blame than previously thought.

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Over the next few days Phryne endured visits from her mother who did find a quiet moment to comment about her marrying a police officer. Phryne put her in her place and reminded her her marriage had not been all sweetness and roses.

While they were taking tea in the garden one afternoon Mr Butler called his mistress through to the hall.

"Your aunt is on the phone, Miss," he whispered, "wondering if you would be free to go over for luncheon on Sunday, with your parents as well."

As she lifted the receiver she thought this may be rather nice. Guy and Isabella were there, and they had their nanny so, as it was Nanny Martine's day off, it would work out rather well.

"Aunt Prudence," she smiled, "how lovely to hear from you. How are you getting on with Leonard?"

"Quite well dear, he's nothing like his mother," and there, because walls have ears, Prudence left off commenting on her grandson, "I wondered if you would like to come over on Sunday, bring your parents too ... it was lovely the last time and you haven't met Leonard yet."

"That would be lovely, I'm not sure if Jack is free, no cases so far ..."

"Good, well I shall expect him all the same, I'm looking forward to seeing how much your beautiful babies have grown."

"I may need to make use of Isabella's nanny, Martine has Sundays free to go and see her aged aunt," Phryne told her.

"There's the wet nurse too, though she doesn't serve in that capacity now, so there will be plenty of people around to amuse them," Prudence hesitated to use the word 'help', her niece didn't need 'help', a more capable mother she had never met.

"Lovely, we shall see you Sunday then," Phryne grinned, wondering who Leonard took after - hopefully his grandmother.

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Prudence's life was full of joy, she and Leonard got on famously. She had pulled out a few of Arthur's toys, suitable for such a young one, and let him play with them in the parlour. Isabella found it awkward, that Leonard was not in his room being entertained by nanny, but was wherever she looked, playing with granny or being cuddled by her during afternoon tea, heavens Prudence even took over his bath time and read him a bedtime story!

Nanny found it amusing and was rather enjoying the visit. Mrs Stanley had told her she was to relax, take a break.

"If you want to take the time to explore Melbourne, dear, feel free," she had taken her aside, "I want to spend time with my grandson."

"It's very kind of you, madam," nanny smiled, "I've never been out of England before, but ..."

"You get him up in the mornings, then bring him to me, unless I have one of my boards to deal with I shall take him into the gardens or we shall have a walk in the botanic gardens.

She did however request that nanny was around for the Sunday she had invited Phryne.

"My niece has three month old twins, and while she sees to them herself for the most part it would be helpful if you were around. Not that Phryne needs 'help'."

"Twins, how lovely," nanny smiled.

"Yes a boy and a girl, a complete family in one go, Phryne says," Prudence nodded.

"Of course."

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Phryne hoped her aunt wasn't inviting lots of people on Sunday, people from her charity work to pour over her children and she fervently hope Jack wasn't tied up on a case. And that was another thing, she needed to invite Jack's family over to meet her parents, perhaps the following Sunday, and they would have a luncheon. She may even suggest Aunt P and Guy and Isabella were invited, along with young Leonard, of course.

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Phryne needn't have worried, Prudence had wanted just a family lunch, the first of many she hoped. Leonard decided he had to poke Christopher and Claire just to see what kind of reaction he could get when he was shown them. Prudence told him that was not the right thing to do, they were babies and didn't understand.

"When they're older, darling boy," she took him on her knee, "you will be able to play with them. See," she pointed a Phryne calming down Claire, "Claire is only tiny yet."

Leonard stuck out his bottom lip.

"Now Leonard," his granny muttered, " we are going to be nice to our little cousins, aren't we?" the last was emphasised only the way Prudence Stanley could.

He looked up at her, granny very rarely got cross with him and he was a fast learner, so he nodded and leant his dark curls on her ample bosom.

"Good boy," she kissed him.

Phryne took the chance to talk to Isabella and Guy about how they were finding living in England and if they had any intention of returning to Australia permanently.

"Doubt it, old girl," Guy shrugged, "business deals in London, we're pretty settled there. We have asked mother to come over and join us, but ..."

"I wondered, she does miss you, and now she doesn't have Arthur ..." Phryne sighed, "I'm glad you decided to come over now, though. She thought Leonard would be able to make his own way over here before she got to meet him."

"Ha ha," Guy gave a sarcastic laugh, "she nagged us and then you go and have twins, well ... I didn't believe her at first."

"A girl can change, can't she?" Phryne folded her arms.

"Isabella thought she was joking when she told us, and that you er ..." he waved his hand at her torso, "then she thought you'd gone completely ga ga."

"Cheek," his cousin huffed, "we are perfectly content doing it our way, and anyway I feel all the better for it. My doctor says it is the best thing for all three of us."

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From her conversation with Guy Phryne made a silent promise to herself to allow Aunt Prudence into her children's lives as much as practical as it seemed she was unlikely to see Leonard after he was taken back to England. Perhaps when he started school they could be persuaded to arrange for him to come to see her during the summer holidays. True it would be winter in Melbourne but perhaps that wouldn't matter.

Prudence felt more content than she had done in years, she had all her family round her, a grandson she doted on, a wonderful great niece and nephew nearby things really couldn't get much better than this.

Margaret and Henry watched the comings and goings over dinner. They saw the way their daughter managed her twins, held a conversation with the adults around her, laughed and smiled but most of all they saw how much she loved Jack, and he her. It was nothing special, but the way she would lightly touch is arm or her hand linger on his as things were passed between them. The looks that passed between them assured the Baroness that whatever life threw at them they would face it together - as one.

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Before Margaret and Henry left to return to England, Phryne arranged for them to dine with them and meet Jack's family. Jackie was on his best behaviour, Millie endeared herself to the Baroness, much as she had done to Mrs Stanley and Laurence, dear solemn Laurence, fell into conversation with Henry about, of all things, plants. Phryne had no idea her father had any interest in plants at all, but he was able to tell Laurence about some of the plants they had around the estate and how they had a Knot Garden created just for the Baroness.

"All herbs, y'know," he smiled, "Margaret likes the smell of 'em when she walks through it."

"Rosemary, sir?" Laurence asked.

"Absolutely," Henry nodded back, "and chamomile, calming - apparently."

"So they say, sir," Laurence agreed.

Margaret had the opportunity to thank Elizabeth and Catherine for all they had done to help Phryne through the birth.

"I am very grateful to you both, for ensuring they were all kept safe, I have thanked Dr Macmillan, but I know you were there for her all through it."

"We are so glad Jack met her," Catherine smiled, "she has done him good, given him back his spark, and the twins are just the icing on the cake. He didn't have children with Rosie, as you know, and thought he would never be a father so was just happy to see our three when he could and be a father figure to Jane."

"He's going to be a wonderful father," Margaret looked over at the man in question, "and husband."

"They are so much in love, aren't they?" Elizabeth whispered, "they can't hide it, no matter how they try."

"They don't do they?" Margaret seemed surprised.

"Not in front of family but when Phryne starts taking cases again I expect they will try to be more professional, on duty, so to speak."

"Of course."

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Henry and Margaret left Australia the following week, having assured themselves that the future of the line was secure and their somewhat wild daughter seemed to have everything she wanted and needed. The children were beautiful, Phryne was happy and Jack was a more suitable husband than Margaret could have dreamt of.

They called to say goodbye, and give a final kiss to the babies before Phryne insisted on driving them to the docks and seeing them off. Just her.

"Thank you for coming, mother, father," she hugged them both. "Now you can see I am happy and safe, and Jack is ... well, Jack. I never thought I would bind myself to one man but he has broken that resolve and I don't think I could be happier."

"You look after yourself and those adorable babies. I want regular updates and photographs when you can, darling," Margaret sniffed. "Perhaps, when they are older, you will bring them over to see their birthright."

"Perhaps."

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As Europe changed over the next few years neither Jack nor Phryne thought travelling to England was a safe idea. Both had seen how wars start and could see worrisome things happening that made them fear for her parents safety. More than once Phryne tried to get them to relocate back to Melbourne but they refused and she had to resign herself to the fact that there was a small possibility she may never see them again.

 _And there I shall leave it and you, dear reader, can make up your minds as to whether Phryne ever did see her parents again._


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